Magic Once Lost
by RainbowSquee
Summary: When Merlin's magic goes missing, he doesn't know how to deal with it - and when it returns, the consequences could leave him wishing it hadn't. Whump, Reveal!Fic, NO SLASH.
1. Chapter 1

So, my first fanfic. I had such fun writing this. It's a multific, so please read and review - any constructive crit or ideas are appreciated! If the first couple of chapters are recieved well, I'll continue onwards with the plot I've planned.

**Title: Magic Once Lost**

**Author: RainbowSquee**

**Rating: K+**

**Themes - H/C, Reveal!Fic, Angst**

**Disclaimer – No, I don't own Merlin. I just love obsessing over it instead.**

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><p>"Gaius, I can't do magic."<p>

Gaius looked up momentarily from his porridge, his eyes flickering to Merlin's face, astonished by this sudden announcement.

It was too early for such humour, he thought with a sigh, and the boy had too much energy for this time of the morning.

"What do you mean, you can't do magic?" He asked, taking another spoonful and glancing away again. "What do you call all the things you've been doing for the past few years?"

He snorted. "Luck?"

Merlin put down his spoon. An uneasy pause filled the room, borne from the absence of Merlin's usual witty reply.

This silence caused Gaius to look up again, alerting him that something was amiss. Perhaps Merlin was being serious? He peered into the boy's face, noticing how the usual carefree expression had been replaced by one of poorly disguised worry, and how his blue eyes were slightly ringed, as if he hadn't had much sleep.

Merlin, noticing he was being scrutinised, gave Gaius a quick smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes, and shovelled another spoonful of porridge into his mouth. He kept his gaze fixed on the lumpy mess in his bowl as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

"I've tried, Gaius. I've tried everything. But it's gone, and I – I don't know what to do."

His tone was even, bordering on indifference, but Gaius could tell how hard to he was trying to stop his voice from breaking – he could see the tiny shaking of his hand. He was doing that thing he did when he felt awkward or worried and was trying to hide it – he kept glancing around, his limbs constantly moving in small jerky movements, as if he couldn't keep still.

Gaius took a breath. Merlin was being utterly serious.

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><p>Gaius didn't react, but mind whirled around as he studied the raven-haired boy in front of him – there was no denying it, Merlin's words had shocked him. Magic couldn't just 'disappear', especially from someone as talented and crucial as Merlin. Merlin was practically made of magic.<p>

Dark magic? But, surely they would have noticed something, a sign from somewhere, from the dragon. An illness? But Merlin had seemed completely healthy, as bright and cheerful and annoying as ever. A phase he was going through? What then?

"Merlin – " he began, leaning forward over the bowls to lay a comforting hand on the boy's arm. Merlin was reluctant to look at him, his eyes still glued to the porridge.

How long had Merlin known this? For how long had he done exactly what Gaius had just then, trawling through the possibilities and worrying to himself, driving himself crazy? He was scared, and Gaius knew it, but when it came to magic Merlin was a rule unto himself. There was nothing in any of his books about a being like him.

"How long has it been this way?" he asked, the physician in him taking control and asking the questions that needed to be asked in that ridiculously calm, even voice of his. Yet even he could hear the chiding tone had crept into his question, and he silently tried to rein it back in as he repeated the question again.

"A while."

"Why didn't you tell me when this first happened?"

Silence.

"Why didn't you let me know that something was wrong?"

Silence.

"You know as well as I that sometimes you have to do things sooner rather than later, or the consequences can be dire."

"I know."

The two words shook slightly, edged with frustration and sorrow, and Merlin's hand clenched into a fist as he struggled to keep his face blank, his normally blue eyes stormy.

"I know."

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><p>A loud knock on the door jerked them both back to reality.<p>

"Merlin!" a particularly angry voice called.

Gaius sighed again, retracting his hand, and Merlin hastily reached out to retrieve his spoon, knocking his cup over in the process and creating the trademark loud clatter that generally preceded him wherever he went. The familiar blonde hair of the Prince could be seen through the crack in the door, and Merlin could tell by the way he was moving that he seemed to be pretty annoyed by something. Or someone.

Him.

"Juss commnnnn!" he called, his mouth suddenly full of stodgy porridge. He chuckled, nearly choking on his food as he watched the door nearly slammed off its hinges in front of him, as Arthur stomped into the room, anger radiating off him like heat.

"_Mer_lin," the prince said surprisingly calmly, walking over to where his manservant was filling his mouth with as much of the remaining porridge as possible and taking up a firm stance next to the table. "What time do you call this?"

There was a pause as Merlin slowly swallowed the lumpy mess. His trademark cheeky grin spread slowly across his face as he looked up innocently into the Prince's face.

"Breakfast?"

Arthur crossed his arms.

"You're meant to be _my_ servant, _Mer_lin, not the other way round. You're meant to give _me_ breakfast. But when I wake up and need some breakfast, what do I find?"

He stared angrily into the boy's eyes, his voice laced with sarcasm and annoyance.

"You're here. Stuffing your face."

Merlin smiled sheepishly.

"I'm sorry sire," he said seriously, before brandishing the porridge-covered spoon in front of Arthur's face. "Did you want some?"

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><p>Merlin flashed Gaius a grin that lit up his pale face as he was dragged by the ear out of the door by a fuming Arthur, their bickering echoing along the corridors.<p>

If Gaius had not just witnessed Merlin's breakdown moments before, that smile could have easily tricked him into believing that Merlin was the most carefree person in the world. It had power, that smile, the power to wipe the bad moments away and let you forget for a few precious moments. And Merlin knew exactly how to use it.

Once silence had been restored, Gaius slowly cleared away the mess and walked over to his collection of books, selecting a particularly large dusty one from the shelf. He sneezed as a cloud of dust flew up from the ancient pages, the text in an old language and hard to decipher.

Why hadn't Merlin just told him as soon as he'd known about his absence of magic? Then he could've helped him right from the start, and maybe they would have a lead by now, some sort of answer. He shook his head. These young people always thought they knew all the answers, that they could do everything on their own, and when they couldn't it was only then that they came and demanded help.

But, Gaius smiled ruefully to himself, Merlin wouldn't often admit that anything was wrong with him, not when there were other people around him that he thought were more deserving of care.

There was no denying it though – despite all his positive attributes and his nonchalant personality, Merlin was still just a boy. A boy who needed support, just as he gave it to others around him.

Gaius found himself thinking of Arthur, and how Merlin's face had lit up when he'd walked into the room. If only Arthur could know everything, he found himself imagining, maybe then Merlin's life would be a little easier.

Then he wouldn't have to feel so alone.


	2. Chapter 2

**So, second chapter. And Merlin's on today. Exciting! Thanks to everyone who reviewed/alerted/favourited - you have no idea how happy if feel when I see them in my inbox :D**

**(I apologise to Merlin for making him go through this angst, but hey, it's fun. And we love to read read it.)**

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><p>"For god's sake, Merlin, just go and do something else!"<p>

It was a few weeks after Merlin had confessed that his magic was gone, and he was becoming a nuisance.

Without his magic to protect him, his natural clumsiness was desperately obvious and he was becoming a hindrance to everyone – including himself.

He rarely went out on hunts with Arthur any more as he kept either falling over whilst trying to track the target and scaring it off, or getting in the way whilst Arthur was attacking the animal. He'd narrowly avoided getting an arrow in his leg five times so far, and had got an earful from the angry Prince each time before being sent back to the castle with his face burning.

His relationship with the Prince was becoming strained too. Their usual banter was getting sparser and sparser, punctuated by long awkward silences and usually ending with an exasperated Arthur either sending Merlin away as he managed, once again, to drop the tray he was carrying all over the floor, or Merlin escaping as fast as possible from the weird mood that always seemed to hover in the air now, no matter how much he tried to break it.

This morning was better though, he thought to himself as he picked up the pile of chain mail that had been left on the table the previous night, absent-mindedly rubbing a patch that was dirtier than the rest. True, he'd forgotten to clean Arthur's armour, but it was such a long task now that he had to do it by hand that he wasn't too bothered – the point was that no plates had been dropped, the laundry was all done and he was actually on time to help Arthur get dressed for training the new knights. Things were looking up.

"You'd better not put on any more weight, Sire," he joked weakly, tightening the belt around Arthur's waist and handing him his gauntlets, "I'm not sure that I'll be able to tighten this at all if you carry on the way you're going."

Arthur eyed him seriously.

"I'm not fat, Merlin."

"Fat? Who said anything about fat?" Merlin exclaimed innocently, walking over to retrieve the newly sharpened sword that he'd only finished polishing a couple of minutes ago. He'd had a busy night.

"Although, with the amount of food _you_ eat, I'm surprised you're not as big as a horse right now, let alone simply 'fat'-"

Still chatting aimlessly, he spun the sword round by its hilt a couple of times – a habit he'd picked up from watching Arthur when he was trying to show off to his knights before training – and, satisfied with his handiwork, turned around and hurried back to Arthur.

"You eat enough for three people – no, not even that. You eat enough for a whole army! I'm surprised that Gwen finds you the least bit attractive –"

And he tripped. It was bound to happen at some point – the goblet left on the floor by Arthur was too good an opportunity to be missed, and Merlin's clumsiness just wouldn't let him have a morning when things could actually just go _right._

"Ah-" he hissed, as the arm that he'd automatically flung in front of him to stop his fall connected with the sharpened blade that his other hand was still grasping, tracing a thin line across his forearm that was at least a couple of inches long.

Instead of trying to get up off the floor, Merlin simply stared with slightly wide eyes as blood began to rise up to where the blade had been seconds previously, almost as if his surprised mind was trying to catch up with reality.

"Oww," he said, indignantly, as the blood began to trickle from his cut and down his arm – not much, but enough to hurt, and certainly enough to stain the floor. He'd have to clean it up later. Great.

Arthur snapped.

"Dammit Merlin, what is wrong with you?" Arthur shouted, taking the sword and throwing it across the room, as far away as possible from Merlin.

"You can't fight, you can't hunt – you can't even make it down the stairs without falling over your own feet and knocking yourself out!"

He roughly hauled his manservant up off the floor, ignoring the sounds of indignation he got in return, and turned away, his fists clenching and unclenching as if he was desperately trying to rein this volcano of emotion that Merlin had unwittingly released.

"I mean, yes, you're bad – you're useless – but lately you've just become ridiculous! Are you so incapable of just doing what you're told, without messing up or embarrassing yourself, or embarrassing me?"

He threw his arms in the air in exasperation.

"Or is it that you're so against authority that even your own body chooses to ignore what you tell it to do?"

Merlin was rooted to the spot, his injured arm forgotten. That pain was insignificant compared to what Arthur was doing right now – Arthur probably didn't realise it, but he was tearing him apart, dredging up all the doubts Merlin ever had about himself and making them a hurt hundred times more simply because it was _Arthur_ who was saying them, and Arthur meant every single word.

"You're a liability to everyone, Merlin! Not just yourself!"

That hurt.

"Why do I even have you as my servant? You're incompetent, you answer back – you certainly can't do your job properly. If I'd listened to my father, maybe I would've been saved from this continual embarrassment that follows you around, and I would actually be respected for once!"

He paused then, finally, and rubbed a hand over his face. He seemed tired. Merlin desperately tried to think of something to say – something, anything to make Arthur take back what he'd said, to make him apologise or, or something.

He struggled to keep his voice from breaking.

"Arthur, I –"

"Just get out, Merlin."

"What? I-"

"Get out!"

Get out? For how long? …forever? Was this – was Arthur telling him to never come back?

Merlin's mind whirled and he struggled to stop the tears in his eyes from falling – Arthur thought he was soft anyway, he wouldn't give him the satisfaction of adding another thing to the list of 'Things I hate about Merlin'. So much for destiny.

"Just get out until you sort yourself out."

Arthur still had his back turned. He wouldn't even look at him.

Merlin's eyes burned. Arthur was out of line, but it hurt him so much to hear him say exactly what Merlin had been trying to forget about ever since he had arrived in Camelot that he wasn't even that angry at the Prince. He just felt wounded, right to the core.

He blinked rapidly, his vision hazy, and he complied with the Prince's wishes without question for the first time in weeks. He brushed past the motionless figure, keeping his eyes fixated on the floor, and hauled open the door, giving a last glance at the man he had thought was his friend. Arthur hadn't even moved. Stepping through the doorway, his voice sounded small and strange, even to him. The words were strangled by emotion.

"My lord."

And Arthur looked up, just for a moment – enough time to see the hunch in his servant's shoulders and hear the way Merlin couldn't quite get the words out the way he wanted. His anger subsided slightly, and he took in a breath as if to say something – he wasn't sure what – but the door had already clicked shut.


	3. Chapter 3

**So, the next chapter. The continous angst more or less stops here for the moment, to make way for plot, but there will be more angst and excitement on the way.**

**Have you been wondering where Merlin's magic has gone? Well, let's pretend you have - this chapter holds some of the answers! :D**

**Thanks for the alerts/favourites, but I'd love it if you could _review_ - it means alot when I get feedback on how this story's going, and I'd love to know what you're thinking~**

**Enjoy!**

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><p>Merlin thrust open the door to his chambers and thundered in so quickly that by the time Gaius had registered that he was there, he'd already disappeared into his room. The door slammed shut behind him.<p>

"Merlin?"

He stared at the closed door, his eyebrow raised in mild concern at the nature of his ward's appearance.

Merlin didn't answer.

Instead, he blindly strode over to his bookcase, grabbing the book at the front and hurling it to the floor.

What gave Arthur the right to act the way he had?

Hot, angry tears spilled over his cheeks and he continued along the shelf, throwing book after book, his room echoing with the thumps that seemed to mimic the rage he was feeling inside.

Useless. That's what he was without magic.

A wave of anger washed over him, and he punched the shelf in frustration. His magic. Something that he may never have again – the one thing that made him different, made him useful, was completely gone and there was nothing he could do.

The corner of his magic book was poking out from underneath the rumpled pillowcase, and he stormed over to it, the very sight of it fuelling the anger that seemed to be coming from the gaping hole he felt in his chest. He held it aloft, the slip of paper he'd been using to mark the page of a particularly hard healing spell that he'd _finally_ got round to learning drifting onto the floor, and he paused for a moment, his hands shaking.

He just felt like – like nothing he did was ever good enough.

With a shout of rage, he threw the heavy book with all the strength he could muster, not really caring where it went.

It was that moment that Gaius chose to open the door.

"Merlin, what's going on in -?"

His eyes widened , and it was only due to sheer luck that his reflexes were fast enough to allow him to duck just in time to narrowly miss being hit by the thick volume flying through the air. A whole series of crashes promptly followed, and they stood frozen as there was a smash of glass, then a couple of thumps, then more smashes of glass before an eerie silence fell, only punctuated by the drip of what must've been the entire contents of Gaius' potion collection pooling onto the floor.

"MERLIN!" his mentor spluttered, seemingly lost for words, his raised eyebrow enhancing the look of surprise that was plastered on his face, "What is the meaning of this?"

Merlin whirled on him.

"Without my magic, I am nothing! Okay Gaius? Nothing!" he screamed at him, his usually gentle blue eyes were now stormy, filled with hurt and frustration at the fact that everything seemed to be out of his control.

Gaius said nothing, just watching, and waited for his ward to continue.

"Without my magic, I am nothing," the boy repeated miserably, running a hand over his tear-stained face. "I'm clumsy, I can't fight – I can't even hold a sword, let alone use one – I mean, at least when I had magic I could be of some use, even if it was without anyone knowing, but now, now – I mean, how can I protect Arthur if I can't _do _anything? And now even _Arthur_ hates me and –"

His breath hitched as he looked at Gaius imploringly with those eyes of his, silently begging him to do something, anything to make things like they were before. They pierced Gaius right to his very core, and he found himself gathering Merlin into his arms before he had even consciously noticed what he was doing.

"Oh Merlin," he breathed, holding tightly onto the slight, shuddering figure. "My dear boy, you're most definitely not 'nothing'. Surely you don't need me to tell you that."

Merlin grunted softly in reply, taking in a long, deep breath in a desperate effort to try and stop this flow of emotion that he'd finally let go of.

"You have a great destiny, Merlin, your magic will return. You attract magic almost as much as you attract trouble – even in a kingdom where it's banned you manage to find _some_ kind of sorcery every other day, I don't think that your magic is going to have a hard time making its way back to you."

Merlin felt hollow now that the anger had left him, the hole which it had filled was empty once more.

"Yeah…"

He took his arm from around his mentor's shoulder and rubbed it vigorously across his face, so hard that Gaius was worried that he might take his eyebrows off if he carried on for much longer. Merlin managed a small smile.

"Trouble, that's me."

"Yes, it is."

Gaius swept his accusing eyebrow around the room, and Merlin started to feel slightly guilty at the mess he'd created, standing in the middle of a floor littered by half-opened books that probably didn't deserve the treatment that he'd given them.

"I think we have enough evidence around here to prove _that_ statement, don't we?"

Merlin's smile left him for a minute.

"Why don't you just join Arthur in his 'All the things we hate about Merlin' club then?" he snapped, before looking sheepishly back at his mentor whose eyebrow had just shot up again.

"Sorry," he muttered, sulkily bending to pick up a rather forlorn looking book that was sprawled halfway across the floor, its pages fanned upwards towards the ceiling.

Gaius sighed.

"You know how Arthur is, Merlin."

"Yes. I do."

"You're always insulting each other. Why take it to heart now?"

"Because it hurt, Gaius. And it wasn't fair."

He wasn't going to get anything out of Merlin in this mood, Gaius realised. And, to be honest, he had every right to react the way he did.

Well, apart from throwing that book and smashing all the potions I'd spent the last two days preparing.

"I'll be here if you need me," he said softly, excusing himself from the room. Merlin flashed him a grateful smile as he tried to smooth down the pages of a book that had got wedged between his bed and the wall, and Gaius smiled warmly in return as he shut the door behind him.

Merlin just needed some time to himself to – adjust. He'd talk to Gaius when he felt ready – from previous experience, Gaius knew better than to try and get him to talk about anything that he didn't want to. He felt a small twinge of annoyance at Arthur's behaviour – he could be so … unfeeling sometimes. If only he could try and think about other people for once – he was getting better, but he was still too stubborn to admit that he actually cared for people besides himself. That he actually had friends who looked out for him, and that he would return the favour for. Arthur and Merlin were more alike than they knew – hiding their real feelings, bottling their anger until they exploded. Like now.

Gaius took one look at the state of his desk, and turned away, only to be faced by a pile of stodgy porridge spilt all over the pages of the open book that he'd been studying. There was no escaping Merlin's mess.

This was going to be a long day.

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><p>He'd been waiting for a long time in the darkness of the forest. The night wind was strong, and had it not been for fear that he would lose more than he would gain from missing this meeting, he would've left ages ago. Growling slightly, he pulled his cloak tighter to himself, trying to quell the annoyance that rose inside him.<p>

He was not accustomed to waiting.

"I see that you decided to come after all."

The man spun around, automatically reaching for his weapon, but the hooded figure in front of him sent it flying away with a casual flick of the wrist as if it weighed nothing.

"You're late," the man snarled, his hands balled into fists at his side – he did not appreciate being made a fool of, and right now that was exactly how he felt.

When the figure next spoke it was with a playful tone, edged with mockery.

"Is that any way to greet your visitor?"

His fists tightened.

"My lady," he growled through gritted teeth.

Morgana pulled down her hood, her green eyes piercing the darkness, filled with a coldness and a power that seemed to chill the air around her. They held no compassion.

"I trust that you've heard of my proposition?"

"I have."

The man tapped his chin thoughtfully as if mulling over the details, not being able to resist a chance to provoke this woman that made him feel like a fool, to see how far he could push her.

"You offer the opportunity to attack Camelot, to take revenge on Uther and all that he's done and to grasp a piece of the new age of magic. A very bold proposition indeed."

Morgana regarded him coldly.

"I am offering you the chance to be part of history – to walk with the army that takes down the kingdom of Camelot, and be there when magic is restored to its rightful place."

"But taking down Camelot is no easy feat," he replied airily, knowing that he was pushing his luck but carrying on regardless. "As you should know – you've tried, and failed, already. And that was _with _an immortal army, if I recall –"

His sentence was cut short as he suddenly ran out of air. His eyes flickered to the woman in front of him, and mentally kicked himself as he found her standing about a metre away, her hand outstretched and her fingers curled, a murderous look in her eyes. How could he have forgotten about the sheer power of her magic? It was well known that she required no words, no incantations – you would get no warning if she decided it was your turn to die.

"I should kill you for your insolence," she murmured dangerously, closing her fist slightly.

He fell to his knees, the icy grip on his throat growing ever tighter. Dark spots were beginning to dance before his eyes.

"I'm- sorry-" he gasped, his eyes bulging, begging to be released, for forgiveness. After a moment she seemed to relent, as she only held his gaze for a few moments longer before her eyes flashed gold and he fell to the floor, gasping. She turned away from him, adjusting her hair as if nothing had happened.

"This time is different. This time there are five armies at my disposal – over ten thousand men armed with both weapons and magic, ready to take revenge for all the wrongs that they have suffered."

She laughed suddenly, a dark humourless laugh that sent a chill running down his spine.

"Camelot will never stand a chance."

Finally having regained enough breath to speak, the man eyed the dark-haired woman warily, determined not to be caught off-guard again. His voice sounded hoarse.

"Five armies? How have you managed to convince five armies to ride out for you?"

Morgana smirked.

"Oh, Camelot has far more enemies than you could even begin to imagine. And my powers of persuasion are just as effective."

He certainly didn't doubt that.

"What's to stop them from turning to magic themselves? Although Uther hates magic, I wouldn't put it past him to turn to it in order to save his own skin – if that happens, the casualties could be great on both sides. I don't want to send my people into a battle that I am not certain they will ride out of again."

"I take it that you will ride with me against Camelot when the time comes?"

He did not miss the threat in the question, and no matter how much he doubted the consequences of the battle, the consequences of denying this request were obviously so much greater.

Reluctantly he fell to one knee, his head bowed to the floor and his eyes trained on the undergrowth. He couldn't bring himself to than stare into those deep, stormy eyes so full of joy at the prospect of revenge and excitement at the promise of spilt blood. They chilled him.

"I will lead my people against Camelot, and we will lend our magic to your will."

He could feel anger and indignation rolling around inside him as he made his pledge, his brain urging him to use his magic, to protect his people, but he couldn't. This was one fight that he could not win.

He felt the icy touch of a finger against his cheek, and he found his chin being tilted until he was staring right into the depths of those eyes that held such darkness, her powerful gaze fixed right upon him.

"Don't worry about your people."

She spoke softly, but the compassion did not reach her eyes.

"With the death of my sister I have grown stronger, more powerful. I've placed an enchantment of sorts on Camelot, a curse if you will, that stops all magic from existing in the kingdom – "

The kneeling sorcerer shook his head, unnerved by the woman's claims. If what she said was true –

"That kind of magic is impossible."

"No, not impossible. It's just … old magic – far older than you or your people can even begin to comprehend. It takes darkness and amplifies it, feeding on the magic that exists around it until it has completely gone, then waits for more. It recognises the magic of its 'home' – it will not attack any foreign magic, but will simply sit and wait on the off chance that somehow more magic is created for it to feed on. Which, as you know, is impossible – magic cannot be created when there is nothing to create it. All it requires is power – so much power, that without my sister's gift I would not have been able to perform it. Power and darkness."

She stopped, releasing the man from her grasp and towering over him, the dark smirk reappearing on her lips once more as she gazed down on him.

"And Camelot has _so much _darkness within it."


	4. Chapter 4

**I meant to update sooner, but I found this chapter really hard to write... I hope it's okay! I'm really excited about writing the next few chapters - the real action is about to begin, and it's always great to write that stuff 8D**

**Thanks for the reviews and fav/alerts, I grinned stupidly at the screen when they all came up in my inbox... ****I tried to reply to the reviews personally, but the link was broken for some reason, so I _shall_ reply when it's working again.**

**ENJOY.**

**(Btw, did anyone think that Merlin really needed a hug after last week's episode? I so did. He didn't even get an apology D:)**

**/I love reviews. And it is so motivational to know how people are finding it :DD**

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><p>Merlin sat with his head resting on his hand, slumped at his desk and gazing, unseeing, at the dull glow of candle in front of him. It was dark outside, and Gaius had long since gone to bed, leaving Merlin alone with his thoughts. Absent-mindedly he began to move his hand from side to side in front of the candle, a habit he'd developed a while back – in the same way that other people would unconsciously tap or twirl their hair around their finger, Merlin would unconsciously start doing simple magic, like conjuring and putting out a flame, or manipulating the air around him, causing it to push objects backwards and forwards.<p>

Merlin groaned. His magic.

He leaned forwards until his forehead was on the desk, and sighed. The book of herbs and medicines that Gaius had given him to study (so that he could "stop moping around and be of some use") lay underneath his folded arms, the scrawled letters blurring together until his tired eyes couldn't distinguish one word from the next, and he couldn't bring himself to even so much as glance at it any more. It was so _boring._

So he sat with his eyes closed, feeling the roughness of the paper on his skin and simply listening to the sounds of the night. Camelot was quiet, and if he listened really carefully he could even hear someone roaring in the distance - something about the tavern and drinking and 'knight responsibilities'. It was probably directed at Gwaine.

A flashback of the first time he'd met Gwaine appeared in his head – the ridiculous amount of drink he could consume brought a smile to Merlin's lips, and, chuckling softly, he sat up slowly, rubbing his bleary eyes with the intention to perhaps intercept the man before he got himself into even more trouble.

He opened his eyes only to be greeted by darkness.

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><p>"Gaius!"<p>

Gaius nearly fell out of the narrow bed in surprise; his peaceful sleep broken by what he could almost swear was someone screaming his name.

"Gaius! Gaius!"

The old physician's heart leapt into his mouth – that was Merlin's voice. He cast a glance to the window – it was still dark, the moon illuminating the room with a low light, and he wondered how long he'd been asleep: three, may be four hours at the most?

Shuffling as fast as his tired body would carry him, Gaius hurried over to the door of his ward's chambers, fear clutching at his chest.

"Merlin?" he called breathlessly as he threw open the door, "My boy, what's the matter?"

His eyes desperately scanned the room until he finally found the boy in question – not, as he had been imagining, slumped on the floor, injured, or lying motionless on his bed, but on his feet in the corner of the room, his attention focussed on something on the table beside him.

"_Mer_lin?" Gaius said again, slower this time, a hint of annoyance present in his voice. "What is the meaning of all of this noise?"

The boy turned and for a moment the room went dark, the light gone. Gaius hardly dared to breathe, but before his eyes could adjust to the darkness something flashed gold for a moment, so quickly that he wasn't sure if he'd just imagined it, and the light returned.

Merlin was stood by the candle, a proud grin on his face, his blue eyes sparkling.

"It's back!"

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><p>When Merlin rode out of the castle later that morning, he felt the happiest that he'd felt in days.<p>

After being woken by a very grumpy Gaius complaining (rather loudly) that, "thanks to your nocturnal sleeping habits, I am now _at least_ an hour behind with all my duties," followed rather quickly by, "and the Prince won't be very pleased with _you _either," a drowsy Merlin had basically tumbled out of bed in a clumsy attempt to react in appropriate way to the information provided, but failed miserably. In a heap on the floor, he blinked twice, still experiencing the echo of the euphoria he'd experienced the previous night at discovering the return of his magic –

His magic.

A large, lopsided grin slowly spread onto his face and he let out a small, delighted laugh as his sluggish mind finally caught up with the present.

His magic was back.

True, he couldn't do much – lighting and extinguishing a candle was all that he'd managed to accomplish the entire night, but even that couldn't dampen his spirits. He hadn't lost his magic completely, and that was all that mattered.

It was at that moment that Gaius chose to stick his head around the door, irritably flicking through the pages of a particularly thick book, frowning slightly at the untidy scrawl.

"Mer –"

Momentarily looking up from the text, the sight of his goofily grinning ward sprawled unceremoniously on the floor only served to feed his feeling of agitation further.

"Well, I'm glad that you seem so happy this morning, _Merlin_, but some of us don't have time to simply lounge about all day," the physician said irritably, snapping the book shut rather more forcefully than was required. "Unfortunately it looks like there won't be time for breakfast this morning, so you'll just have to hope that Arthur takes pity on you and doesn't have you thrown in the stocks for being so late –"

The smile fell from Merlin's face at the mention of the Prince's name – the memory of their exchange the previous day was still raw in his mind, and Gaius mentally kicked himself for reopening the wound.

"I'm not needed today," the boy said flatly, not meeting his mentor's eyes.

Gaius sighed softly.

"Well then," he huffed, trying his best to avert the situation – a moping Merlin was the last thing he needed, "It looks like we'll just have to make time for breakfast then, won't we?"

Yawning, Merlin slowly clambered to his feet on unsteady legs, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes in an effort to clear his cloudy thoughts. He was just so tired this morning.

"Great… what're we having?"

There was a pause before Gaius replied.

"Porridge or porridge?"

* * *

><p>"Merlin!"<p>

For the second time that week, the door to Gaius' chambers was thrown unceremoniously open, preceded by the loud, self-confidant voice that could only belong to Prince Arthur.

Merlin looked up from his porridge in shock, his spoon suspended in mid-air and the gloopy mess dripping slowly off the side as he stared at the figure in front of him who was _way_ too animated for this time of the morning.

"Eating again?" Arthur clapped the boy firmly on the back, causing the porridge on his spoon to shoot across the table and land in Gaius' bowl. He merely raised an eyebrow in response. "Honestly _Merlin, _how is it that you're constantly eating and yet you still resemble a stick?"

"Er…Sire?" Gaius hesitantly enquired, conscious of Merlin's obvious discomfort – even if Arthur could dismiss the events of the previous day, Merlin couldn't let go of them that easily, and he could see that the Prince's forced cheer was making Merlin squirm under his grip. "What is it that you require?"

"We're going on patrol," the man announced, grabbing Merlin by the shoulders and hauling him up and out of seat. "So you need to get ready."

He propelled the bewildered boy towards his chambers, literally pushing him through the door so that he stumbled slightly before regaining his balance. As Arthur let go, Merlin stood frozen, the burning question that he _needed_ to ask weighing heavily in his chest, yet he found himself reluctant to voice it.

"I thought you said you didn't need me today."

There was something in his voice that made Arthur turn around, something that made the insides of his stomach begin to writhe. The feeling of guilt.

He could see the thinly veiled hurt in his servant's eyes; see how he was holding himself as if ready for a battle rather than facing a friend. The guilt intensified tenfold.

"Merlin –"

"I just want to know."

Arthur strode over to the boy – to his friend, and looked him straight in the eyes. Merlin, to his credit, didn't look away, even though it was taking a lot of self-restraint to stop tears forming in his eyes again.

"That was yesterday. Today is a new day, Merlin, and we're going on patrol."

He briefly placed a hand on Merlin's shoulder.

"I may have given you the wrong impression."

The look on his face was so serious that, despite the situation, Merlin couldn't supress a laugh – even he couldn't miss the apology that was being offered here, despite the fact that, once again, Arthur had successfully avoided using the word 'sorry' or referring to the actual event at all. It had Arthur written all over it. Arthur smiled too, his eyes filled with something that looked rather like relief – but obviously wasn't, because as a Prince he would never worry about offending his servant or anything like that. Even if that servant was his first and truest friend.

"You're going to love patrol today, Merlin," Arthur proclaimed grandly, striding round the room as Merlin pulled a rather forlorn red shirt from the depths of his cupboard and stuffed it haphazardly into his bag. "We're going to the _country_."

Merlin snorted.

"It sounds riveting."

"Well, actually, I thought you'd appreciate going back to your roots. With all of this lazing about that you're doing, it's obvious that you're getting too used to the life of the castle – you need to be reminded of where you came from."

"I do, do I?" Merlin spluttered, hauling the bag onto his slim shoulders. "And what about you? You prance around like you own everything and everyone; you seem to think that everyone _loves_ you – which, in fact, is totally not true; you seem to think that a day's notice is enough time for me to wash your entire chambers and polish your armour so that it's fit for a visit from your _father –_"

Arthur playfully put his arm around Merlin's shoulders, dragging the boy out of Gaius' chambers and down the corridor before Gaius could even begin voice how much he disapproved of this idea with Merlin in his current condition.

"Oh, but you see Merlin, I act like that because I _can. _Whereas you – you can't._"_

Merlin muttered the only reply he could think of.

"Prat."

* * *

><p>Arthur rode at the head of the group, lost in thoughts of his own. There had been rumours, whispers about a sorcerous uprising in the woods near one of the outlying villages around Camelot, and that's probably all it was – harmless gossip from people who feared magic almost as much as they feared Uther's hatred of it. Nevertheless, his father had, rather predictably, ordered him to scout the area for a hint of anything magical, evil sorcerer or otherwise, and Arthur had seen no reason to refuse.<p>

He was rather hoping that they didn't find anything – today, he'd rather avoid any unnecessary bloodshed, bloodshed that was almost inevitable when the word 'sorcerer' was involved, whether it be at his hands or his father's. Magic was evil, and Arthur knew that, but he still didn't fully agree with his father's way of killing without any thought as to the person's life he was extinguishing – Uther didn't distinguish between child or man, between proven sorcerer or someone simply suspected of possessing magic. He became blind when it came to the subject of magic, and no one could sway him.

Although, after what happened to Morgana, who could blame him?

Arthur shook his head, unwilling to let himself slip back into the darkness of those thoughts. He'd experienced first-hand the wrath of powerful magic and how it could corrupt even the best of people – thinking in this way, he was obviously just letting himself get soft.

It's probably Merlin's influence, the Prince smirked silently, he's as sensitive as a girl – he's obviously rubbing off on me.

They'd searched the area from top to bottom, and Arthur could sense that his knights were getting tired. Night was falling quickly and, judging by the progress they were making, there was absolutely no chance that they'd make it back to Camelot before darkness fell completely.

"We'll stop here for the night," he announced, indicating the wooded clearing up ahead, "and Merlin can make us some food."

His decision was met by a cheer from Gwaine and a muttered, "We're not horses, you know, you can't drive us all night." He didn't need to look round to tell whom the voice belonged to.

He rounded on the speaker.

"_Mer_lin, if you were a horse I would've tied you to a tree and left you in a field a long time ago."

Beside him, Lancelot chuckled, and Merlin grinned from ear to ear as he unsteadily swung himself down off his horse, holding onto the side of his saddle to stop himself from toppling face first into the mud.

"And if I was your horse, I probably would've collapsed under your weight a very long time ago."

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing," Merlin said quickly, his face lit up innocently as he began leading his horse towards the clearing. The rest of the knights dismounted too, and there were a couple of grumbles as they stretched their limbs, muscles cramped from staying in the same position all day.

"Prat," he whispered under his breath.

He received a blow to the back from a well-aimed bedroll that knocked all the air out of him in way of reply.

"Shut up, _Mer_lin."


	5. Chapter 5

**It took me so long to write this chapter, and I had to stop it somewhere I didn't want to simply because otherwise it would run on for aaaages D: OH WELL.**

**The question of Merlin and his recouperating magic will be answered in the next couple of chapters, so never fear! It starts getting exciting from here. I love writing exciting things :D**

**(BTW, did anyone see Merlin yesterday? It actually made me cry. I _never _cry. That's what a heartfelt!Arthur does to you. And watching Merlin at midnight.)**

**As always, thanks for alerts/faves and PLEASE REVIEW~**

* * *

><p>The attack happened whilst they slept.<p>

Merlin was ripped from the peaceful warmth of his dream (it had something to do with Arthur … and dung … and Arthur in dung …) by a pair of feet stumbling into him, and a sudden weight dropped onto his stomach, pushing all the air out of his lungs.

"Urgh…" groaned Merlin groggily, as he was forced to resurface back to reality. In his tired state, he couldn't really work out why he was finding it hard to breathe, but this fact only mildly concerned him – it was of some importance, he was sure, but right now all he really wanted to do was to be left alone to sleep…

The sound of clashing swords met his ears and, as he slowly tried to sit up, he felt a hand grasp his face and push him back down again towards the ground. That was worrying – he blinked rapidly, hoping that somehow this would make his eyes adjust to the darkness faster, and sluggishly tried to throw himself sideways, away from his assailant. After a couple of seconds he stopped blinking as it was making him dizzy, and found himself staring into the muddy, disgruntled face of Prince Arthur.

Arthur did not look happy.

Struggling against the wave of fatigue threatening to overwhelm him, he poured all his concentration into forcing his eyelids open again, and found Arthur's face almost inches from his own. The shock of that alone was enough to help his consciousness gain the upper hand, causing him to flinch backwards an inch or so, adrenaline beginning to rush through his veins.

His mouth is moving, Merlin thought dazedly, and he looks pretty angry.

For some reason he found this whole situation quite funny, and began giggling, almost drunkenly.

At that, Arthur's eyes narrowed, and Merlin suddenly found himself staring at the muddy ground, a stinging sensation on his cheek.

He was confused. It felt like someone had hit –

His eyes snapped open and he stared up in indignation at the Prince, a hand on his face and his mind suddenly crystal clear.

"You hit me!"

"– I don't find this as funny as you seem to, _Merlin – _tell me,when there's an ambush going on, what do you find so hilarious in lying on the ground just waiting to die?"

An ambush?

Now fully awake and alert, Merlin sat up, quickly looking around him. In front of him, Arthur was clambering to his feet, his sword out of its scabbard and stained with blood, his blonde hair plastered to his forehead with sweat and dirt.

He felt himself being roughly hauled to his feet and pushed away, towards the trees and away from the battle. He was about to protest, but Arthur interrupted before he could get a word in.

"Keep yourself somewhere out of the way!" Arthur commanded, motioning at him to run.

"Not on your life," the boy muttered as Arthur sped away, waiting until the Prince was far enough in front before determinedly beginning to follow the same path through the dark, weaving in and out of the trees towards the battle.

* * *

><p>Their attackers had the element of surprise, but that was the only advantage they had.<p>

"Noisy little things, aren't they?" Gwaine said, as one came hurtling out of the trees, shouting at the top of his lungs, only for his cry to be cut short moments later with a sword to the chest.

"Finally, he shuts up!" he cried, poking a finger in his ear and throwing a smirk in Lancelot's direction.

"I bet Arthur's enjoying this," Lancelot muttered, his sword slicing into the belly of another bandit, the body falling at his feet with a satisfying thump.

Gwaine tossed his hair, grinning widely.

"Why, aren't you?"

Speaking of the pompous Prince, where was he?

Gwaine's eyes searched the battle ground, finally catching a glimpse out of the corner of his eye of the Prince running … away from the battle and further into the forest. That was strange. Arthur would never leave his comrades to fight a battle on their own, not unless he knew something they didn't –

His thoughts were interrupted by a heavy thump at his feet, followed by a small moan. He turned, his sword poised to strike –

"Gwaine, Gwaine, it's me – Merlin!" the dark-haired boy at his feet gabbled, hurriedly scrambling away from the sword.

"Merlin!" the man cried, hauling him to his feet and slapping the boy on the back, "I'd almost forgotten you were here!"

"It's great to see I mean that much to you. Have you seen Arthur?"

"The 'Prince' seemed to be running in that general direction, but I –"

But Merlin had already gone, his blue eyes fading into the infinite darkness that seem to stretch out for miles behind the battling knights, his face set in a determined grimace.

"That's okay, mate, any time!" called Gwaine sarcastically at Merlin's retreating figure. Next to him, Lancelot had been watching the whole exchange, a mildly concerned expression on his face, and Gwaine turned to him.

"That kid," he said, jerking his thumb in Merlin's general direction, "is a bit of an idiot."

Lancelot watched the darkness.

"True."

* * *

><p>All of Arthur's senses were warning him to turn back.<p>

He was abandoning his knights – momentarily leaving them to fend for themselves, he corrected himself, which they were perfectly capable of doing – and pursuing a known sorcerer _on his own. _A sword was no match for magic.

But that man – that sorcerer – knew something, and knew something valuable. The name of Morgana had been spoken from his lips, and Arthur had been doomed from the moment he'd heard it. He would pursue that man until he had extracted every single piece of information connected to his _sister_, and then he would kill him_. _It was simply really, his mind told him, a simple plan that couldn't go wrong.

His logic was highly flawed, he concluded, as he burst out of the forest and onto the bank of a lake, the first few rays of dawn light bathing everything in an ethereal mist that seemed to gather around the figure standing in the shallows of the water. He involuntarily thought of Merlin, a scowl on his face, muttering something like 'I told you this was a bad idea' and how Arthur was too 'stubborn and pig-headed' for his own good. Arthur was just glad that he wasn't here too, facing something that they probably wouldn't escape from.

He drew his sword.

"Who are you, sorcerer?" he spat, taking a step towards the hooded figure, "and what do you know of Morgana?"

"The lady has a message for you." A gravelly voice emanated from beneath the hood, and what seemed like a low chuckle echoed around the trees. "I carry a message that is of the utmost importance for the future of your kingdom."

A scroll appeared in his hand, and Arthur took another step forward, unable to help himself.

"What does she want? What do _you _want? You attacked my men – that is not the behaviour of a simple envoy."

"She wishes for the demise of Camelot, and for magic to be restored to its rightful place in the world; naturally."

The calm, matter-of-fact way that the sorcerer spoke of Morgana made the anger bubbling in Arthur's chest rise – all the pent up emotions that he'd been feeling for the past months were threatening to cloud his judgement if he didn't keep them in check.

He couldn't keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

"And so she's sent a _letter _in advance?"

The sorcerer regarded him coolly.

"She wishes you to know your fate, and to fear it, and to suffer as she has."

That was it. What did that _sorcerer_ know about suffering, about Morgana, about anything? What right had he to threaten the kingdom as if it was a perfectly acceptable thing to do? What right did he have to endanger the lives of his knights, of his servant, of his people? The small voice in his brain that was his better judgement was crushed under a tumult of anger and frustration and hate, and he reached for his sword, a cry forming in his throat.

He'd barely taken a step before he found himself flying backwards, a white hot pain exploding in front of his eyes as his head connected painfully with a trunk of a tree a couple of meters away, darkness quickly filling his vision. As his sense dulled, he could just about make out the blurry outline of the sorcerer, his arm outstretched, and he cursed himself for his stupidity. The words of the man floated into his haze as the Prince slipped away into unconsciousness, confirming what he'd suspected all along.

"Whereas I, Arthur Pendragon, want nothing more than to kill you."

* * *

><p>Merlin burst onto the bank just in time to see the crown prince of Camelot fly backwards and crumple at the base of the tree a few feet away from him, unmoving.<p>

Arthur. He needed to get to Arthur.

From under the cover of the trees, the boy concentrated on the hooded figure, allowing his magic to accumulate within him like it always did.

"_Ich the withdraf!"_ he chanted under his breath, his eyes flashing momentarily gold.

He waited for the man to fly backwards, hopefully far enough for him to reach Arthur and get them both out of here without any further problems, but nothing happened.

Merlin didn't understand – the man didn't even know he was there, and he hadn't seen him conjure a shield, so why wasn't it working?

"_Ich the withdraf!"_ he tried again, more forcefully this time.

Still nothing happened.

His heart began to beat faster as the reality of the situation dawned on him. What was it that Gaius had warned him as he was leaving their chambers? – "You don't have enough magic to do this, Merlin; you could get into trouble – you're no knight."

He'd completely forgotten about his lack of magic.

"_Ástríce!"_he cried softly, his voice rising in pitch as he desperately tried spell after spell, "_Forb fleoghe! __Ástríce! Ástríce!"_

All he could do was watch in horror as the sorcerer began slowly making his way towards the body of the fallen prince. What use was having magic if he only had enough magical power to light a small candle?

There was no time to go and fetch the other knights – for all the good that would do – and Arthur would be dead if he didn't do something soon. If he wasn't dead already.

He spied Arthur's sword lying on the ground slightly to the side of him, and then looked at Arthur. He still wasn't moving.

Swallowing down the panic that was rising inside him, Merlin concentrated all his energy on a fallen branch slightly in front of the sorcerer, taking a deep breath. This was a truly reckless thing he was about to do, and he could almost hear Arthur's voice in his ear telling him what a stupid idea this was and to just leave him here.

Readying his shaking legs, he closed his eyes. He never listened to Arthur anyway.

"_Forbearnan!" _he roared, hurtling himself forwards as the ground caught alight around the approaching's sorcerer's feet, scooping up the fallen sword in his grasp and scrambling to place himself between the man and the unconscious body of Arthur.

The hooded man looked up in surprise as the flames sprang up before him. Batting them away with a lazy flick of his wrist, he studied the pale, panting boy in front of him with some amusement.

Merlin spared a glance behind him, his eyes desperately searching for the rise and fall of Arthur's chest, and he let out the breath that he hadn't realised he was holding when he finally found it.

"Interesting."

Merlin's head whipped round at the voice, his grip on the sword tightening just a fraction.

"Who are you?" he asked, hoping that his voice sounded braver than he felt.

The sorcerer continued as if he hadn't heard him.

"So, you have magic."

His head snapped up, flexing his fingers menacingly.

"Who are you, boy?"

Merlin thought it would be best to answer him.

"I am Merlin, servant to the Prince of Camelot," he answered, his voice strong and hard even though his hands were shaking. Oh, Arthur would be proud.

"Interesting. Hiding in plain sight – very clever."

Merlin hoped that the knock on Arthur's head was big enough for him to stay unconscious for a while longer – he desperately didn't need the Prince eavesdropping on a conversation that he really didn't want to have here, not under these circumstances.

"You were a powerful sorcerer, young Warlock."

The boy felt his heart stop. Were? That was past tense – how did this man know about his absence of magic? As his emotions began to swirl in his chest, a more pressing question appeared in his mind – how did this man know he was a _Warlock_?

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh, come now, everyone knows about the 'Guardian Angel' of Camelot. Don't pretend. There's no point in hiding it – now that I see you, everything I've been told makes sense. It could only be you."

Everyone knew? Merlin dreaded to think what that meant, for him and for Camelot.

"You said 'were'." He couldn't hide the emotion in his voice, no matter how hard he tried. "What do you know of my magic?"

A shadow flickered across the man's face and suddenly Merlin got the feeling that he wasn't so willing to talk in a civilised manner any more.

"You squandered it," the man spat, "You wasted it, Warlock, on Camelot and the likes of _him._"

He thrust a finger at the motionless Arthur, hatred filling his features.

"Everyone knows about your … lack of magic, boy, and the lapse in Camelot's defences. To be honest, I'm surprised you even managed to perform that small trick of yours with the fire – I suppose it just shows how much power you truly possessed. It's almost a shame that we had to _remove_ it."

He paused, smirking. "They're all coming, you know. Soon Camelot will be gone – "

He clicked his fingers, the sound reverberating around the empty space.

"– just like that."

That did not sound promising.


	6. Chapter 6

**There was so much I wanted to put into this chapter - I cut bits out, and its still pretty long! ^^'**

**There's quite a bit of angst in this chapter too. So be prepared :D**

**Thanks for favs/alerts/reviews. They make me super happy. **

**OwO REVIEWS? Enjoy~**

* * *

><p>There was no easy way out of this situation – as far as Merlin was concerned, his magic would have to work now or both he and Arthur would die. Not just them, but the whole of Camelot, in the end.<p>

Why did he always have to make these decisions?

Squaring his shoulders, he lifted his gaze until his eyes met the sorcerer's. He could feel panic threatening to crush him, to give away his weakness, but he pushed it down until it lay, churning, at the bottom of his stomach.

This was how it was always going to go.

"I will not let you harm Arthur, or Camelot."

The sorcerer opposite him could sense the change in resolve in the thin boy, see in his eyes something that he had only seen in the eyes of a warrior before a battle, and for a second he felt something almost like respect for this figure staring death so fearlessly in the face.

"Why do you remain so loyal to the one that condemns you? Who condemns all of us? Why are you willing to lay down your life for someone who would kill you without thinking twice if he knew of your true nature?"

"It is not Arthur who is at fault, it is his father."

Those words came out with more emotion than he had anticipated, but Merlin carried on regardless.

"Arthur will be a great King someday – it's his destiny, and I'll be there beside him all the way."

"And you truly believe that he would let you stand beside him, with your _magic? _He'd kill you himself if he ever found out."

Right now, there were more pressing matters at hand.

"I am still a great and powerful warlock," Merlin said softly, a dangerous edge to his voice, "with or without my magic."

He smiled grimly.

"And I will not let you harm Arthur Pendragon."

"If you wish to die with your Prince, boy," the man growled, his eyes beginning to glow a low gold from within the depths of his hood, "then so be it."

* * *

><p>To be honest, Merlin had been convinced that they were going to die.<p>

Before he'd even had time to think, he felt himself being flung backwards through the air, his back connecting painfully with the hard ground and spots dancing in front of eyes. Desperately trying to scramble to his feet, he didn't seem to be able to breathe in enough air – his breath came out in short gasps as the older man began approaching him slowly, watching as his prey struggled to escape.

"_Ástríce!_" he muttered, "_Forbærne! Ácwele!"_

But still the sorcerer advanced. He was prolonging the inevitable, it seemed, almost as if he was giving the pathetic Warlock in front of him a sporting chance – the chance to live up to the great things that he'd claimed.

Merlin took in a deep breath.

He wasn't going to die to day – not him, nor Arthur. Not like this.

He'd sworn to protect him, and he intended to keep that promise.

Closing his eyes, Merlin began to reach inside himself, searching round his own consciousness until he stumbled upon the familiar pulse of his magic, drawing it out from every fibre of his being in a last desperate attempt to keep both of them alive.

He could feel it building up inside him, filling him – it was everywhere and it felt so _strong_, as if it fed on all his emotions, on his fears and his desires. As if it _was _him.

"_Gar onbærne!_" Merlin roared, his eyes burning a fierce gold, so bright that for a moment his own vision became tinged with a yellow haze.

He didn't know what he had been expecting, but he hadn't been prepared for the sudden pain that resonated through his body as the power was let loose on the outside world – he could actually feel each strand of magic as it detached itself from his consciousness, as if his very being was being ripped apart.

Something's wrong, his panicked brain was telling him, this has never happened before – it shouldn't be like this.

He bit his lip in an effort to stop himself crying out, forcing himself to remain upright. He couldn't rein that power in now even if he wanted to.

All he could do was watch in horror as the air around the Sorcerer began to glow, the expression on the man's face turning from one of contempt to one of panic as flames began to lick at his clothes, burning brighter and fiercer until it was impossible to distinguish the figure from the blaze.

The man didn't have time to utter a sound before he was totally engulfed.

As the last of the enchantment left him, the pain faded as quickly as it had come. There was nothing left of the sorcerer – no clothing, no scorch marks, nothing. Everything was exactly as it was before.

Except that he'd burnt a sorcerer alive.

Merlin's hands shook violently as he stared at the patch of ground – he'd done exactly what he lived in fear of every day, what all of his kind feared.

He'd done exactly what Uther would've done.

"What did you do, Merlin?"

Arthur. He'd forgotten about Arthur.

His head began to whirl slightly as he turned to face the Prince, all the pain and the fear melting into one and making him want to throw up. How much had he seen?

Arthur was struck by just how pale Merlin looked, his eyes wide and one hand still tightly grasping the hilt of a sword that looked so out of place in his hands.

The hilt of _Arthur's _sword.

"Where's the sorcerer?"

Merlin racked his brain for a plausible story, but he wasn't thinking straight and the story didn't simply roll off his tongue like it usually did.

"Y-you struck him a mortal blow, Sire," the boy said, a shaky smile gracing his face. "And now he's gone."

Merlin had always been a terrible liar."

"Well, thank you for that enlightening observation Merlin, but I don't think that's completely what happened, is it?"

Merlin shifted nervously.

"What?"

"I didn't kill him Merlin, I'm not stupid. I know what you did."

Merlin could feel the food from the night before threatening to make another appearance, and he hurriedly sucked in a deep breath.

"I didn't do anything."

"Merlin, you're holding my sword like your life depends on it. I wake up, and I'm lying at the base of a tree."

His voice softened.

"The expression on your face looks like the one my knights wear after their first battle. You tried to take him on, didn't you?"

Merlin stared at him, dumfounded. Arthur didn't know anything about his magic – he was safe.

He nodded.

"He ran, I take it?"

"What?"

Arthur gestured impatiently to the sword in Merlin's hand.

"There's no blood. He escaped?"

Merlin paused.

"Yes. Yes, he did." He laughed nervously. "I mean, come on, me, against a sorcerer? I wouldn't have been able to kill him with a sword…"

"And yet you tried to anyway."

Arthur felt a rush of gratitude towards the boy in front of him – it was obvious that he'd come to try and save him, even though it could've easily worked out much worse for the both of them. They got lucky, but Arthur owed him his life.

"What about the message?"

"What?"

Merlin looked at him in confusion, and Arthur mentally kicked himself for not remembering sooner.

"A message. The sorcerer bore a message of great importance for the future of Camelot. Where is it?"

Merlin's expression didn't change.

Arthur's stomach clenched.

"Merlin! You let him escape without getting the information first?"

Merlin eyed him, a small frown on his face.

"Well actually, I was more preoccupied with trying to stop you from getting your head blown off by a sorcerer-"

"This is no time for jokes!" Arthur cried angrily, "Do you not realise how important this is? How could you be so stupid?"

He jabbed a finger at the trees behind him.

"That sorcerer was our only lead, Merlin. He had a message from Morgana about an attack on Camelot – a magical attack, I hasten to add, one that will cost the lives of hundreds of people and, thanks to you, we now know nothing about!"

"How was I meant to know –"

"Shut up Merlin!" Arthur shouted. "This kingdom is my responsibility, their lives are my responsibility. I don't expect someone like you to understand, but that responsibility isn't some kind of joke."

He turned away, his eyes blazing, and strode back towards the trees.

* * *

><p>"It's Prince Arthur!"<p>

Leon clapped him on the back, a warm smile on his face.

"We were just about to go looking for you, Sire," he said, as the other knights rose to join them.

"But we figured that you might like a little time to be 'alone with nature'," Gwaine added with a smirk, "So we didn't bother."

Arthur didn't have time for this.

"Are all the attackers gone?"

"Yes Sire."

"Then we ride back to Camelot now."

"As in, _right_ now?"

A murmur of dissent rippled through the crowd, and Arthur eyed them with annoyance – it was at times like this that he needed his orders to be followed without question, not this childish banter he was receiving.

"Yes, 'right now'. We don't have any time to waste."

"Even I don't need a drink that much, mate," Gwaine snorted, prompting a small bout of laughter from the rest of the group. Ignoring them, Arthur strode angrily over to his horse, barely resisting the urge to punch the man as he passed.

"Well, Sir Gwaine," he began, his voice laden with sarcasm, "Some sort of magical attack is going to be launched on Camelot at some point in the near future, led by Morgana and an army of god-knows how many, and I have to go and inform my Father of this before doing my duty of defending the whole Camelot from an attack that I don't know anything about. I think that constitutes for a drink, don't you?"

His voice grew louder and louder as his speech progressed, emphasising each point with an angry tug at the saddle strap until eventually his horse began to shy in disapproval – he all but shouted the last question, whirling round and flinging his arms in the air in exasperation as the blood pounded in his ears.

He was met with a stunned silence.

Finally, he'd managed to shut them up.

"So we're leaving for Camelot right now, if that's alright with you?"

His voice was cold, uncharacteristically so, but considering the severity of the situation, Arthur didn't really care how he came across. After all, it wasn't them who would have to tell his father about this, who would feel personally responsible for every life that was lost in Camelot.

"Where's Merlin, Sire?"

Arthur didn't react, choosing to ignore the question. He heard footfalls behind him, Lancelot's, but didn't look up.

"Arthur, Merlin's not here. Do you know where he is?"

Elyan was watching them warily, Percival at his side.

"You're not going to just leave him, are you?"

Apparently Gwaine had been thinking the same thing, his voice light but edged with something that suggested that this had better _just_ be a joke.

Arthur snapped.

"If you care that much about that idiot, then go! Go and tell him that if he doesn't get here right now then he can tell my father personally that, yes, we did have information outlining the details of the attack, but thanks to _his_ stupidity we now know nothing at all. Tell him that he'd better get his lazy self here right now, before he costs Camelot even more lives than he already has!"

His shouts echoed around the trees.

"By all means, go and get that ridiculous servant of mine, but I will not let him endanger the lives of any more of my people by making us wait for him!"

Lancelot stared at him as if seeing him for the first time, the look in his eyes a mixture of sympathy and disgust that made Arthur immediately regret his words. Gwaine was fuming.

"His name's _Merlin_, you ungratef–"

"I'll go," interjected Lancelot, putting a calming hand on Gwaine's shoulder and forcefully pulling him backwards. They didn't need a full scale fight on their hands, not with Gwaine and Arthur in the moods they were in.

"Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid," he said quietly Elyan as he passed. Percival looked at him.

"Gwaine or Arthur?"

"Both of them."

* * *

><p>"Merlin?"<p>

His voice was met by nothing but silence as he made his way through the forest.

"Merlin?"

The trees began to thin and he found himself facing a lake, the depths dark. A dead end.

Lancelot felt another pang of worry for his young friend as he surveyed the area – if he didn't return back to Arthur soon then they really would leave without him, and there was no telling what would happen to Merlin in the meantime if they did.

"Merlin?" he shouted across the open space, "Merlin, where are you? Arthur needs us to leave _now_!"

A small groan came from one of the nearby trees and Lancelot looked around, his eyes wildly scanning the landscape before finally spotting a small, pale figure lying at the base of a tree.

"Merlin?"

He ran over towards the figure, unsure of what condition he was going to find the boy in. Merlin had his eyes closed, supported by the body of the tree, and his head was tilted backwards so that it rested on the trunk.

"Merlin, what's wrong? Are you hurt?"

Merlin slowly opened his eyes, a small smile forming on his lips when he saw Lancelot, and shook his head.

"What was that about Arthur?" the boy asked, his voice hoarse with fatigue.

Lancelot eyed him with concern – it looked like it was an effort for Merlin to keep his eyes open, let alone talk, yet he couldn't see any kind of wound.

"What happened here?" Lancelot knelt down so that he was level with his friend. "Arthur said something about a sorcerer and an attack. Did your magic have anything to do with it?"

"He was going to die, Lancelot, right in front of my eyes – the 'sorcerer' wanted to kill him. Me too, actually. So I killed the sorcerer."

Merlin swallowed, his fists clenching slightly as he gazed at the ground.

"But something went wrong – I had so much power, but it was almost out of my control, like it knew what I wanted but it chose its own way to accomplish it."

His voice became thick.

"I engulfed the man in _fire_, Lancelot. The penalty of those condemned of practising magic. I burnt him just like Uther would've done."

Lancelot put a reassuring hand on the boy's shoulder.

"That was the only way, Merlin. You would've both died if you hadn't – you saved Arthur's life. That's much better than any reason than Uther ever had."

"But that wasn't enough for Arthur. Apparently the man had some kind of threat from Morgana with him – information about an attack."

His voice began to rise in pitch, frustration seeping into his words.

"When Arthur woke up there was no sorcerer, but there was no information either – I mean, I didn't know anything about it, I must've destroyed the message at the same time as the sorcerer, so now I'm _also_ responsible for the loss of hundreds of lives."

"You're not responsible for anything, Merlin," Lancelot said quietly, trying the get the boy to meet his gaze, "You saved his life, and now Arthur can defend Camelot. No one's died yet – you're not responsible for anything."

Merlin didn't respond. To be honest, as much as Arthur's words had hurt him, the guilt in his chest was dulled by the fog that seemed to be drowning his senses, sapping his energy. He was beginning to worry that he'd never be able to stand up again.

"Besides," Lancelot said brightly, trying to lighten the mood, "Arthur sent me to find you – we're leaving for Camelot right now."

He looked critically at Merlin's folded legs.

"Can you walk?"

At this, Merlin let out a laugh.

"Not really."

Smiling, Lancelot put one arm around the boy's thin frame and hauled him to his feet, grunting a bit as he took Merlin' weight. He may look like a stick, Lancelot thought, but he sure doesn't weigh it.

"Let's try one step first," he said, watching carefully as Merlin tested whether or not his leg would withstand his weight. He seemed so unsteady, as if every movement required energy that he didn't have.

"Merlin, what's wrong with you? You look dead on your feet."

"I'm fine, just tired, that's all," the boy replied quickly. Tired seemed like an understatement – Lancelot could see the thinly-veiled pain in his eyes, and tell how much he was concentrating, but he knew better than to argue. If Merlin didn't want to tell him, Lancelot wouldn't get a word out of him. He was like Arthur in that way – they were both so stubborn.

Suddenly he heard a small 'oh', and the arm supporting Merlin dipped sharply as the boy's legs gave way beneath him and he fell towards the ground for the second time that day. Merlin sat there, his energy spent.

"Sorry," he grinned sheepishly.

Lancelot sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"This is going to be one long journey back to Camelot."


	7. Chapter 7

_**Finally, **_**I finished the chapter! This was quite hard to write, but hopefully it's still good :D **

**/SO PUMPED FOR THE MERLIN FINALE. ACTUALLY JUMPING UP AND DOWN.**

**Thanks and Merry Christmas, all my lovely readers~**

**Please REVIEW - I really want to know if you think this story's going at the right pace, and if the characterisation seems realistic. And if you're enjoying it!**

* * *

><p>It was a quiet journey back to Camelot, but that didn't mean that it was a calm one.<p>

Arthur rode them at a relentless pace, his eyes fixed on the horizon, never speaking. He was lost in his own thoughts – overwhelmed by the threat that loomed over them, his mind had already begun simulating possible scenarios in his head, analysing the best attack strategy for an opponent he knew nothing about. He didn't want to think about having to break the news to his father.

Gwaine was glaring daggers into Arthur's back, still fuming at the way he'd acted towards Merlin, keeping his mouth clamped firmly shut apart from the occasional angry grunt that escaped his lips.

Merlin was concentrating on simply keeping his eyes open and his seat in the saddle.

The others rode along in silence, the tension in the air enough to deter them from speaking – they couldn't shake the feeling that if they opened their mouths they'd be unleashing a storm much worse than the silence they rode in now. Besides, Arthur's news of the threat lay heavy at the forefront of their minds – that in itself gave them enough to chew on as they completed the long journey back to the castle.

* * *

><p>As Arthur walked out of the throne room he couldn't shake the feeling of intense dread settling in the pit of his stomach.<p>

All things considered, he mused, his father had taken the news reasonably well.

"What of your patrol? I trust it went well?"

If only his father wouldn't begin like that, setting him up for a fall. Like he expected to be disappointed.

"Well, Sire, we have obtained information on an … attack planned for Camelot," he began. Uther looked up, his eyed narrowed, as if warning his son that this news had better be _good_ news otherwise he _would not_ be pleased.

"An attack?"

Arthur swallowed, trying to keep his voice as impassive as possible as he spoke the next few fatal words.

"An attack led by Morgana."

He watched as his father's eyes hardened, turning stormy.

"You dare speak her name in my court?" Uther hissed, his face visibly reddening.

Arthur swallowed again.

"She is leading the attack on us, Sire."

There was a moment's silence as Arthur's words slowly broke through the haze of anger in Uther's mind, the severity of the situation bringing him back down to reality, to his duty.

"What information?"

Arthur searched for the right words to convey the events to his father – under the intensity of Uther's gaze he felt like a child again: standing there, ashamed, and stumbling over a story that simply ended in him disappointing his father once again. It was something he hadn't felt for many years.

"The sorcerer in the woods attacked us – he drew me out, told me he'd been sent by … Morgana … to deliver a message regarding an attack planned on Camelot."

Uther regarded him coldly.

"Where is that information now?"

The temperature in the room dropped a couple of degrees.

"I was attacked, knocked out by the sorcerer's magic. My servant, Merlin –"

Arthur paused, unsure of how to phrase this. In this mood, if his father got even the faintest idea that Merlin was responsible for the lack of information he wouldn't hesitate in having the boy severely punished. So severely that Arthur may never see him again.

No matter how angry he was with Merlin, deep down Arthur knew that it wasn't really his fault that they were now in this situation – to be honest, a voice piped up in the back of his mind, if it wasn't for Merlin, you wouldn't be standing here in the first place.

"–he tried to attack the sorcerer, stop him from killing me, with no regard to his own safety. The sorcerer fled, and Merlin couldn't chase after him because he needed to stay by my side whilst I was … incapacitated. "

"And the information?"

Arthur felt his cheeks begin to burn in shame, but he held his father's gaze all the same.

"We – we don't have it, Sire."

Arthur had gotten out of there as soon as possible.

* * *

><p>The first that Gaius knew of the knight's return to Camelot was a loud shout of "Gaius?" followed by a muffled thump and what sounded like someone making shushing noises.<p>

"I'm in here!" the physician called, carefully placing the glass vial he was holding back onto the table.

Young men, he thought irritably, get far too excited for their own good.

He shook his head, wearily shutting the book he'd been studying. You never saw _him _parading around the castle like a wild animal, and he was proud of that fact.

There was an almighty crash as the door was thrown open, hitting the wall with such a ferocious slam that Gaius jumped about the foot in the air – he was truly thankful that he'd put the vial on the table, as otherwise his entire day's work would now be pooling out all over the floor.

"Gaius?"

It was Gwaine.

Well, sighed Gaius to himself, it would be, wouldn't it? Only Gwaine could get away with carrying on in the way he does.

"There's no need to shout, I could hear you from all the way down the corridor – in fact, I'd be surprised if there's anyone in the castle that _hasn't _heard you," he scolded, quickly scooping his bottles off the table – there was no telling what disaster Gwaine would leave in his wake, and Gaius really didn't want another fiasco like the one he had with Merlin the other week.

There were more shuffling sounds from behind him, followed by some soft (and not so soft, in Gwaine's case) mutterings.

That man was almost as bad as Merlin.

"Sir Gwaine," the physician began sharply, turning to face the man, a scowl on his face, "It may interest you to know that some of us actually have work to get on with that requires the utmost concentration– "

The criticism died on his lips as he found himself facing a pale figure literally being held upright between Gwaine and Lancelot, eyes half closed and mumbling incoherently.

It was Merlin.

"Get him onto the bed."

The physician in him had already taken over, the initial shock that he felt taking a back seat to his instincts as he ran a critical eye over the boy's body, searching for symptoms.

"-said 'm fine," the boy slurred as Lancelot carefully lowered him onto the bed, Gwaine hovering close behind.

Gaius ran a hand over the boy's forehead, checking his temperature, and then looked over the rest of him, assessing the situation. He felt cold to the touch, his skin much paler than usual, and it looked like he had trouble keeping his eyes open – it was obvious that he barely had enough energy to form coherent sentences, let alone stand by himself.

"I need blankets."

Lancelot rushed to retrieve some from Merlin's chambers, covering the boy in them. Merlin was much calmer now, finally being able to succumb to the sleep that had been threatening to overwhelm him ever since the battle, and Gaius eyed him with concern.

Satisfied that Merlin was in no immediate danger, the physician turned to the two men – Gwaine looked as if he wanted to punch someone, pacing angrily up and down, and Lancelot was doing his best to placate him.

"What happened?"

"Arthur happened, that's what!" snarled Gwaine, his eyes flashing.

Gaius looked at him in confusion.

"Prince Arthur?" he asked incredulously.

"If the 'Prince' hadn't been such a pig, if he actually had the decency to -"

"Gwaine," warned Lancelot, casting a meaningful look at Gaius, "I don't think you're really telling Gaius the whole story here."

Gaius understood.

"What Merlin really needs now is sleep," Gaius interjected as Gwaine began to grumble again, "Sleep in peace and quiet."

Gwaine looked at him, as if unsure at what he was trying to get at.

"Thank you for bringing him here," Gaius continued more kindly, "And, despite his protesting, I know that Merlin _will_ appreciate it when he wakes up, but right now it would probably be best if you just let him sleep."

Gwaine looked sheepish, his anger abating slightly. He cleared his throat.

"Well then … just tell him not to give us a shock like that again."

Gaius nodded his thanks, and Gwaine cast one more look at his sleeping friend before stomping out. Lancelot hoped that he didn't meet Arthur on the way.

"Now, Lancelot, what has this got to do with Arthur?"

Gaius was looking at him with such confusion, Lancelot almost wanted to laugh – Gwaine certainly had painted a very one-sided view of things.

"Nothing, really. We were attacked by a sorcerer and his men, and Arthur ran off somewhere and Merlin followed, like usual. Arthur just had … other things to worry about on the way back, and was pretty harsh towards Merlin. Harsher than he deserved. Even I think that Arthur overstepped the mark, but Gwaine – well, he went off the deep end."

Gaius could understand that.

"But what has this got to do with Merlin being in this condition?"

"When I found Merlin, he was collapsed at the bottom of a tree. He told me he'd done some kind of enchantment – Arthur had been knocked out, and the sorcerer was about to kill both of them. He said he'd … consumed the man with fire. He seemed really disturbed by what he'd done."

Gaius stared at the sleeping boy. Merlin barely had enough magic to light a candle – how on earth did he manage to destroy a sorcerer? And with fire … he couldn't have done that intentionally. Of course it would've rattled the boy – being burnt alive was a nightmare too close to home for him and others of his kind.

"He didn't even have enough energy to make it to the horses without my help, but I can't see any injuries – he just kept saying that he was really tired."

Lancelot looked at Gaius, his dark eyes full of concern.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Nothing serious, I don't think. Merlin does genuinely just seem to be tired – he may have collapsed from exhaustion, or something similar."

Lancelot smiled, running a hand through his hair.

"That's good then."

They stood there in silence for a while, each man's thoughts drifting off in a different direction, but both of them centred around the sleeping boy that lay in front of them, blissfully unaware.

* * *

><p>"Gaius?"<p>

Merlin stood in the doorway, the blankets still wrapped around his shoulders. The colour had returned to his cheeks, and he certainly felt much more awake than during the rest of the day.

Gaius looked up from the book he was reading, and motioned for the boy to come and sit down. Pushing away the mountain of books that littered the table, Merlin rested his head on his hands, staring absent-mindedly into the candlelight as he waited for Gaius to finish the last line of text.

Gaius went straight to the point, still somehow managing to sound slightly accusatory even though this time Merlin couldn't really see what he'd done that meant that he was in the wrong.

"What happened, Merlin? You had very little magic, almost nothing, and yet Lancelot tells me that you managed to defeat a fully-grown sorcerer?"

Merlin closed his eyes, his mind drifting as he remembered the feeling of pure power that coursed through his being, power that he could almost lose himself in.

Then he remembered the pain.

"I don't know," he said at last. "At first I couldn't – I tried everything, nothing was working, and … I realised that we really were going to die if I didn't do something."

Merlin smiled awkwardly.

"It sounds stupid, but I kind of reached inside myself, trying to find my magic. And I did – I found this immense power, all inside me, and when I used it, it just felt … _amazing, _unlike anything I'd felt before_._"

Gaius studied his ward closely, sensing something was amiss.

"And that was it? It came back just like that?" he asked cautiously, not missing how, beneath his chin, Merlin's hands began to shake slightly.

"Not quite."

Merlin suddenly found the table very interesting, studying it intently with eyes filled with confusion and the memory of a pain that felt ingrained in the very substance of his bones.

"It hurt, Gaius. It wasn't right. When I released it, it felt like … like I was being ripped apart."

Gaius opened his mouth to interrupt, but Merlin quickly carried on, not meeting his eyes.

"It went away though – I mean, it stopped as soon as the enchantment was finished, and I just felt tired after that. So everything's fine, really."

Gaius pursed his lips.

"I don't think that you arriving back half-dead qualifies as 'fine', Merlin. You couldn't even walk."

"But I can now," said Merlin indignantly, "Look!" He stood up, the blankets around his shoulders falling to the floor, and proceeded to agitatedly pace backwards and forwards in front of the table. "See?"

Gaius sighed in exasperation. "Yes, Merlin, I think you've demonstrated that you've regained the use of your legs quite thoroughly–"

"Oh really?" Merlin didn't stop pacing. "Are you sure?"

"Yes – would you please stop your ridiculous pacing? It's making me dizzy."

Merlin stopped, his face serious.

"Because, I could always dance for you, if you needed any further proof–"

"Your dancing is definitely something I'd rather not be subjected to right now, Merlin."

Merlin grinned at him and, as much as he tried not to, Gaius couldn't resist giving him a grudging one in return.

"If you're not going to give me anything sensible," the physician scolded, the smile still on his face, "then you may as well go off to bed."

"But I was just in bed," grumbled Merlin, pouting slightly.

Gaius gave him the eyebrow.

"Fine then."

The boy trudged sulkily back to his chamber, his head down, the prospect of more 'sleep' not appealing to him at all.

"Oh, and, Merlin?"

He turned.

"I think it would be best you didn't try any magic for a while."

"Why? Have you found something?"

"I just think that, based on recent events, it would be best to refrain from using your magic until we've worked out exactly why it reacted like it did. You may not be so lucky next time."

Merlin grunted in reply, shutting the door behind him.

Truth be told, Gaius had started forming a theory – the details were sketchy, but it would explain why Merlin's magic had suddenly begun to reappear. It seemed like his body could sense its lack of magic and was trying to replace it – somehow, whether it was using his excess energy or something else entirely, it seemed to be replenishing his magic. That it in itself seemed to be completely harmless, as he had _plenty _of excess energy, but when the events of today were factored into the equation –

Gaius wasn't sure exactly what this development meant for Merlin, but it probably wasn't good.

* * *

><p>Merlin had fallen back into his old routine the very next day, much to Gaius' exasperation, and blustered bright and early into Arthur's chambers with a ridiculously chirpy greeting of, "I'm glad to see that, in the face of an attack that threatens the livelihood of the kingdom, Camelot's glorious protector is just snoring away whilst the walls could be crumbling down around him."<p>

He snorted, throwing open the curtains so that the sunlight shone right into the Prince's face.

"I bet the rest of the citizens wouldn't feel so safe if they knew what a _clotpole_ you really are."

Arthur's reply was a ton of dirty laundry to the face.

"Oh, I feel really _safe _now," Merlin mumbled seriously, his mouth full of linen.

He felt a goblet graze his shoulder, and, laughing, he quickly dodged out of the room, the incident in the forest all but forgotten.

* * *

><p>The first attack was merely a warning, a glimpse of the horror to come.<p>

For the citizens of Camelot, it began with fires appearing in the night, ravaging the outlying villages, dead bodies littering the borders of the kingdom. The people ran for their lives, fleeing to the main city, their life's possessions burning in front of their eyes in fires that sprang up out of nowhere. Many didn't even make it to the road, men cutting them down before they could even scream.

For Arthur, it began with a patrol going missing, a long night of sitting in the council chamber trying to pinpoint exactly what the threat could be, his mind begging for a hint, for anything.

The patrol was found the next morning, their cloaks stained with blood. The bodies of the villagers and the charred remains of the village were found soon after.

Only one small child, a boy of perhaps eight years, had made it out alive. He was brought into the throne room during the early afternoon, his clothes charred and his feet bloody from running all night through the darkness. Sat in his chair, Uther regarded him distantly, but Arthur couldn't remain so detached – the boy stood motionless, no doubt traumatised by what he'd been through, and Arthur couldn't repress a pang of sympathy for the wide-eyed child.

"What's your name?" he coaxed, kneeling down so that he was at eye-level with the boy.

The child didn't reply, staring at him blankly through haunted eyes.

Standing in the corner, Merlin watched the boy closely. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong here – the child was too pale, too quiet, and completely surrounded by the feeling of death. It emanated off him like heat, oozing out of every pore and filling the room with a dark tension that made Merlin feel queasy. He'd never felt it on a scale like this before, not even on the battlefield.

But that's to be expected, Merlin tried to reassure himself, the whole village was murdered before his eyes. It would be surprising if he didn't feel like death.

"It's alright," Arthur soothed, peering into the boy's eyes, "You're safe now. All I want to know is your name."

There was still no reply.

"What happened?" Slightly unnerved by the boy's relentless gaze, Arthur reached out to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, hoping that the human touch would spark some life into the child.

It did, but not in the way Arthur had been hoping for. The boy suddenly jerked, his head snapping downwards so that he was staring straight at the Prince, and when he spoke it was with a voice that was not his own.

"I bring a message for you," the boy intoned, the voice low and devoid of emotion. "A message from the Lady Morgana."

With a shaking hand he reached into his cloak and pulled out a small roll of parchment, placing it in Arthur's outstretched hand with deliberate care.

At the voice, Arthur involuntarily moved backwards, staring at the boy in confusion. Magic was at work here, he could tell, and it was obvious from the way that his father had motioned for the guards to move closer that he thought it too.

"What is this?"

As soon as the parchment touched the Prince's hand, the small boy's body became rigid, his eyes suddenly rolling back into his head as he crumpled to the floor. Merlin rushed forwards, closely followed by Gaius, rolling the child over so that the physician could easily access his chest. Gaius lowered himself to the ground, placing his ear on the fragile body, listening for any signs of life.

"He's dead, Sire."

Arthur had already turned away, unrolling the parchment that he should have received a few days ago, and handing it to his father. Uther stood there for a moment, his eyes narrowed as he scanned the scrawled words.

"I don't think he was alive when he arrived," muttered Merlin, as Gaius slowly heaved himself up from off the ground.

"I agree with you there, Merlin," Gaius conceded, puffing slightly. He turned to the King.

"Sire, I believe that this boy was possessed by Morgana; a dead body enchanted to do her bidding."

Uther waved his comment away – right now there were more important matters at hand.

"We must prepare our men," he announced, his voice laced with anger, "Camelot has had war announced upon her."

Arthur snatched away the parchment, his eyes quickly scanning its contents, drinking in each word.

_My dearest Uther,_

_You have persecuted my kind and wronged so many in this land – it is only fair that you are made to suffer as we have, to atone for all the crimes you have committed. _

_I want you to wait in fear, as so many of my kind have, knowing what horrors are promised, yet powerless to prevent them. _

_You have seven days until Camelot falls and magic is restored to its rightful place – we_ will_ kill every single one of your people who stand in our way, be they man, woman or child, so I suggest you be prepared._

_I __wouldn't want you to miss the dawn of a new era. _

Arthur looked up, his gaze finding Merlin's. The expression reflected in Arthur's eyes was one that Merlin had never seen before – it was one of hurt, of disbelief and foreboding. It looked as if, deep down, Arthur had already acknowledged the possibility of defeat, and that possibility made him uneasy.

Arthur's admittance scared Merlin more than any news.


	8. Chapter 8

**I'm sorry it's been so long! first there was the Merlin finale, then Christmas, then New Year, then Sherlock (DONT EVEN GET ME STARTED) and then I got distracted by writing a one-shot ...**

**But the chapter is finally done, and I'm back, and ****I promise you will be getting weekly updates again like normal from now on.**

**/Btw, I got distracted by writing a Merlin one-shot, so you should check it out :D**

**So, here it is! Reviews and comments appreciated~**

* * *

><p>"I think it would be best if you stayed here to help Gaius."<p>

Arthur sat at his desk, chin on his hands, and even in the low light Merlin could tell that he probably hadn't moved from that position since his father had declared war hours previously. His body was rigid with tension, and as Merlin began to gather up the uneaten food still left on the table, the servant couldn't help noticing that the air of apprehension that had filled the castle like a fog seemed to have accumulated here, hovering over Arthur's head like a thundercloud.

He kept his voice low, and ignored the statement. "You haven't eaten, Sire."

Arthur looked up, his face a picture of confusion.

"What has that got to do with anything?"

Merlin smirked slightly, turning his head away slightly as he loaded the plate onto his tray.

"Well, it's a clear indication that there's _something _wrong with you – I mean, usually you eat like a horse and the food's gone in two seconds flat, but today you haven't even touched it, which means either Gwen has _finally _informed you of your expanding girth, or –"

"Shut up Merlin."

His voice was sounded so serious, so tired, that for once Merlin actually did just that, lapsing into silence. Arthur sighed, kneading his forehead with his fists before running his hands over his face.

"Merlin, one of the first rules of battle is to know your enemy. That way, you know their strengths and weaknesses, and you can work out a strategy. Without a strategy, you may as well be walking into that battle with a blindfold over your eyes.

We know nothing about our opponents – nothing at all. Tomorrow we are going to enter the biggest war that Camelot has ever seen, and we won't have a strategy because we don't know what we're up against."

He slammed his fists on the table in frustration.

"This is Morgana we're fighting – she has sorcery on her side. Who knows what we'll be fighting, or how many, or whether they'll even be able to be defeated with 'mortal weapons'? She had an immortal army last time. Who knows what she has now?"

Merlin had been watching him in silence, but spoke up at this. "We defeated her last time, we can defeat her agai –"

"I am leading my men to their deaths, Merlin."

Arthur looked up at him then, and those eyes that were usually filled with such determination and confidence were now full of a doubt and frustration that Merlin had never seen in them before. He didn't try to complete his sentence – he knew it wouldn't be enough.

Arthur had run his mind over every possible option, played out every single scenario using all the different strategies that he could think of, yet every single one of them fell down due to the fact that he _didn't know what he was fighting. _

He had witnessed Morgana's magic first hand, seen how she had very nearly destroyed Camelot, and he knew how dangerous she and her kind were. He couldn't see any feasible way of winning this war when they didn't have anything to match her, and this frustrated him more than anything else, it scared him. But he would never – could never – acknowledge that fact – fear was a weakness, one that Morgana was trying to twist to her advantage, and he wouldn't let her have any more of an advantage than she already did. He couldn't let her.

Turning his head away slightly, Merlin busied himself with polishing an imaginary smudge off the unfinished goblet.

"You've led Camelot to many victories before." Merlin spoke as casually as if they were talking about the weather, but there was an edge to his voice, a determination and a trust that refused to be hidden. "Yes, Morgana had an immortal army last time but you _defeated _it. _We _defeated it – defeated an undefeatable army, with just seven men. Your knights love you, Arthur, and your people love you, and they would lay down their lives for you because they know what kind of man you are. They would follow you anywhere because they trust you and they _believe _in you."

Merlin looked up then, his eyes filled with such faith that for a moment Arthur could swear that they almost glowed golden.

"I believe in you, Arthur. And however this war goes, I know that you'll do what is right."

Arthur stared at him, as if trying to fathom where this wisdom was coming from, and Merlin held his gaze. They stayed like that for what seemed like an eternity, each one trying to see into the other's heart, trying to figure them out, neither one of them backing down. After a few moments, Arthur was the one to break the spell, clearing his throat slightly and motioning towards the door.

"That will be all."

The fact that Arthur hadn't given any sarcastic comment at all towards Merlin's speech showed exactly how preoccupied his mind was, and how grave their situation must be. Merlin nodded, retrieving the tray and moving towards the door. He doubted that Arthur would be getting much sleep tonight.

"Sire."

* * *

><p>Merlin was adamant that he would ride out with Arthur in the morning, regardless of what anyone said. He was not about to let Arthur ride out against Morgana and her army without any magical protection, even if what he could provide was only small – Arthur was his friend. Magic or no magic, Merlin would ride by his side.<p>

Unfortunately, everyone seemed against the idea.

"Merlin, are you mad? You don't have any magic, and you said yourself that you can't wield a sword properly!"

Gaius never agreed to anything that Merlin proposed, so he didn't much notice.

"I do have some magic," Merlin pouted, pausing to pour a large amount of soup into his mouth – the way he saw it, this could be the last that he'd get in a while, so he may eat as much as he could. "We're at war, Gaius. From tomorrow, you're going to be occupied with tending to the wounded, and seeing as I'm rubbish at healing spells I'd only be a hindrance. You said so yourself."

There was a large amount of 'you can't be serious' and 'it's too dangerous', and eventually Gaius resorted to giving Merlin the eyebrow, causing the boy to abruptly get up from the table and walk towards his room. He'd had enough.

"Look, Gaius, I've faced worse. And I'm not going to let Arthur do this on his own."

Gwen didn't like the idea either.

"Merlin, are you really going with Arthur?"

He met her in the hallway as he was in the process of loading the horses – or, more accurately, he cannoned into her due to the fact that his vision was obscured by the vast pile of items he was rushing towards the horses with. Being 'only a servant', Arthur had instructed him to load the horses for all of them, whilst the knights were occupied with early morning training. As in, crack-of-dawn early morning training, so early that Merlin didn't wake up early enough, resulting in him rushing around the castle, trying to gather all of the required items in as few trips as possible. One trip, preferably.

"Of course. The prat needs someone to look after him, doesn't he?"

Gwen pursed her lips as she handed him one of the bedrolls that had managed to roll its way over to the window. "It's very dangerous, you know. You're not a knight."

Merlin tried his best to try and smile reassuringly at her. "This is a war, Gwen, I'll have to fight at some point. We all will. Besides, we're not riding into battle – we're just scouting the area to try and get some information on our foes. It's not so bad."

She murmured something incoherent, presumably in agreement, then placed the last pack onto the mountain of items that were balanced precariously between Merlin's arms.

"Just come back safely, all of you."

* * *

><p>"We're going to battle, Merlin, not going on holiday."<p>

Arthur was already at the horses when Merlin arrived, half-running, half-stumbling under the weight of his load. He collapsed on the grass beside Arthur's feet, the items settling on the ground with a loud thump, and flexed his arms, his muscles aching from being tensed for so long.

"I know how cranky you get when you don't have all the stuff you need," Merlin retorted, looking up at the Prince from the floor. If the dark circles under those blue eyes were anything to go by, his guess had been right – Arthur hadn't got any sleep last night. "And seeing as you hardly told me anything about this trip apart from, 'Scouting for enemies,' I didn't know how long to pack for, did I?"

Behind him, Gwaine snorted, before stepping forward to retrieve his bedroll from the bottom of the pile.

"That's because the princess doesn't _know_ anything other than that, he just doesn't want to admit it."

Lancelot shot him a warning look, glancing at Arthur.

"We're all on edge, Gwaine," he murmured in a cautionary tone, "but don't be stupid."

Arthur's expression had hardened into one that lay somewhere between frustrated and fuming, and he snatched up his own bedroll with rather more force than necessary, throwing it over to Merlin with such ferocity that the boy had to step backwards in order to avoid being knocked clean to the floor.

"The reason why I didn't tell you anything, _Mer_lin," he began, his irritation oozing into every word, "is that I didn't think that you were coming with us."

Merlin let out a sigh of exasperation, flinging his hands into the air.

"Not you as well! Don't – " He quickly interjected as Arthur opened his mouth to speak, " – don't tell me. I have heard every possible variation of what you're about to say."

Merlin put on a high, fake voice, gesturing wildly as he began recounting Gaius and Gwen's countless warnings with much relish.

"'It's too dangerous Merlin! Don't go Merlin, you're not a knight! Oh Merlin, don't be stupid, you can't wield a sword – stay here instead because you're a clumsy idiot so it would be much better if you stayed here and got me the herbs I need because I'm old and lazy and think that simply stepping outside the castle in the morning is dangerous!"

Arthur watched the rant with an odd expression on his face, unsure whether he should find this speech amusing or reprimand Merlin for causing such a display at a time like this. Behind him, none of the other knights had such qualms, Percival and Lancelot grinning at each other whilst Elyan stood beside them, unable to conceal his smirk.

"_Mer_lin, I –"

"You need someone to protect you ," Merlin said seriously, stabbing the air with his finger to emphasise his point.

"And you think that you're the best man for the job? Armed with your … what weapon is it that you have exactly?" Arthur asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Merlin looked at him sheepishly.

"Well, I – "

"That's what I've got my knights for, Merlin. It's their job." Arthur had heard enough, turning away and heading in the direction of his horse. He had a task to do, and the fate of Camelot rested on its outcome. Standing here arguing with Merlin was wasting valuable time. "Whereas _your_ job is to serve me and do what I say. And you're pretty awful at that."

"You need someone carry your things for you!" Merlin called after his retreating back. "I mean, you're not used to that, are you? Having to do that, and at the same time looking for enemies – the shock of that alone could kill you."

Arthur sighed. Merlin never knew when to just give up.

"Just stop talking and do what you're meant to do," he shouted back, climbing into the saddle. "And then get on your horse – we're not waiting around here just because you'd rather spend your time telling us how incompetent you are."

Merlin ducked his head, barely hiding the triumphant grin that spread across his face.

"At once, Sire."

Arthur couldn't resist giving him a small, grudging smile in return.

* * *

><p>They spent the whole day searching fruitlessly, from when the first rays of light were filtering through the branches until the light began retreating back behind the cover of the dusk.<p>

Arthur had left Sir Leon in charge back at Camelot, instructing him to command the troops in his absence – Arthur hadn't wanted to leave Camelot at all, but Uther had been adamant that Morgana wouldn't dare launch an attack until the end of the week, when the days began getting lighter, and insisted that Arthur use this time wisely in order to gather information on the opposition.

If Morgana truly had an army as big as she claimed, then there was no way that they could all just 'appear out of thin air' to attack Camelot. It would take days to move them all to a strategic position that was anywhere near the city, and an army of that size would be impossible to miss – all Arthur needed to do was find them and he could then work out a strategy based on what he found.

But so far Arthur had found nothing, and night was beginning to fall.

No matter what his father believed, Arthur did not share his views on Morgana's tactics – he knew her well, recalling numerous situations in their childhood where she had used her sneaky mind and cool intelligence to press an advantage, never quite outwitting Arthur but surprising him all the same. No, he didn't think for one minute that Morgana would wait until the end of the week – if her threat was anything to go by, they were already living on borrowed time, her attack imminent.

He hated being away from Camelot – for all he knew, the walls could be in the process of being breached right this second, and yet he was too far away to do anything to protect his kingdom and his people. It put his mind at rest somewhat that Leon was there to handle any situation that might arise – if there was anyone whom he trusted lead the army and protect Camelot, it was him. But even that wasn't quite as good as actually being there in person.

"That's it," he called softly, motioning with his hand to regroup. They'd dismounted their horses hours previously, taking the path around the edge of the kingdom on foot so as to not attract any unwanted attention – right now they were just over the border and into Odin's land, and Arthur was painfully aware of the reputation that this part of the woods carried, especially for those bearing the crest of Camelot.

They made their way back to the border, completely silent apart from the sound of feet crunching in the leaves. Even Merlin seemed to have got the hang of being 'stealthy', something that Arthur never thought the boy was actually capable of, if his previous hunting trips and patrols were anything to go by. It was a great improvement.

He stopped, realisation suddenly dawning on him.

"Where's Merlin?"

Lancelot glanced up. "He's just behind –"

He found that he was motioning to thin air, and his eyes widened with shock.

Arthur groaned, running a hand through his hair. It would be Merlin, wouldn't it?

"Merlin?" he hissed, eyes scanning the trees around them, "Merlin, where are you?"

There was a small rustle from the plants behind them, and cautiously Arthur approached the noise, sword raised.

"Merlin?" he asked, peering into the darkness.

Something exploded out of the foliage – something red and blue and brown and breathing heavily.

It was Merlin.

The boy looked like he'd just seen a ghost. Or something worse.

"Arthur – " he panted, his eyes wide, barely able to find the breath to get the words out, "Arthur, you have got to see this."

He waved a hand in the direction of the ledge that he'd just emerged from, before bending forwards and placing his hands on his knees, gulping in slow, deep breaths in an attempt to regain some control over his breathing.

Arthur pushed past him without sparing the boy a second glance. Something in Merlin's expression, in his voice, set alarm bells ringing in Arthur's head – Merlin may have tried to hide it, but Arthur could tell that Merlin was truly scared by what he'd found.

As he walked further along the sheltered ledge, he understood just why Merlin had sprinted as fast as his legs would carry him.

Figures. Hundreds, maybe thousands of figures filled the vast valley below him, all in regimented ranks, their armour glinting in the dwindling light. Arthur felt a shiver run down his back – there were so many men, yet it was _completely silent. _Not a sound. The figures below were completely stationary, not even the slightest shuffle in the evening breeze, simply standing there like statues.

Like statues awaiting orders.

There was a small whistle of amazement from behind him. He jerked slightly in surprise, not having noticed Gwaine appear beside him, but the dark haired man was too intent on taking in the ominous scene before him to notice. The rest of the group were slowly emerging from the trees, each one with a similar reaction, and Arthur could see exactly what he was thinking mirrored in every one of their faces.

"Oh Lord," Elyan breathed, his eyebrows knitting together in concern. Arthur felt a hand tentatively tap him on the shoulder and he whirled around, hand instinctively reaching for his sword. He found a rather serious-looking Merlin staring back at him, hands raised.

Arthur was about to snarl some kind of insult, his nerves already stretched to breaking point – this wasn't the place for games, if Merlin kept doing that he'd chuck _him _to the army down there – but all words died on his tongue when he saw the expression on the boy's face. The expression of someone who didn't want to believe what he was seeing, but knew that he had to face up to the facts if he wanted to survive.

"Arthur, I – "

But before the servant could voice his concerns, Lancelot beat him to it, the man tearing his eyes away from the scene below them just long enough to look Arthur directly in the eyes.

"Arthur," the man whispered, his dark eyes filled with disbelief, "We were down there half an hour ago – an hour at most, but I certainly didn't see anything."

Lancelot voiced the question that had been troubling Arthur ever since he had lain his eyes on this scene, one that he had ignored because the answer seemed impossible.

"Arthur, they _weren't here_ an half an hour ago."


	9. Chapter 9

**Next chapter! All shall be explained shortly, and whump will be following in the next couple of chapters after this. Gotta love a bit of whump!**

**Thanks for all your reviews, I really appreciate them - k****eep letting me know what you think!**

**Enjoy~**

* * *

><p>Magic was at work here, of that Merlin was certain. He had felt it as soon as he'd laid his eyes on the motionless soldiers, the unnaturalness of the place hitting him like a wall. It was Morgana's doing. There was no question about it.<p>

Before he managed to voice his thoughts, however, the ever-perceptive Lancelot got there first – it hadn't escaped the knight's notice that this valley had been empty when they had passed through it, and Lancelot was not one to simply ignore things because he was afraid of the answer.

The knights of Camelot simply stood there in the wake of the impossible question, the magic of the place seeming to transfix them and render them unable to function properly. They seemed to have lost their sense of urgency. Merlin felt a flash of irritation at their behaviour, deciding that they needed a small nudge to get them to face up to the answer that lay right in front of their eyes, plain as day. The _obvious _answer.

"It's magic. I can feel it," he added, feeling as if he was trying to explain something to a small child, "and it's the only explanation. Think about it logically, Arthur, this is Morgana we're dealing with – only she could transport an army of this size in such a small amount of time, making it appear as if out of thin air. It has to be magic."

Something in the Prince's eyes hardened at the mention of Morgana's name, the spell on him broken, and he pressed his mouth into a firm line, briefly nodding his acknowledgement. Any hint of doubt had disappeared from his eyes, only to be replaced with a grim determination that Merlin had seen many times before when they were about to embark on a quest where the odds weren't in their favour, but Arthur was determined to prove fate was wrong. It was good to see him like that again.

"We must inform my father about this."

* * *

><p>"What is that?" Merlin breathed, pointing to the wispy column on the horizon, a thin fog obscuring the starry night sky.<p>

It took Arthur only a fraction of a second to peer at the smoke before alarm bells began ringing in his head. Loud ones, ones that related to the safety of Camelot.

"Morgana," he snarled, before urging his horse forward. He knew he shouldn't have left, he _knew it. _And here was the proof.

They only had to ride a couple of minutes more before the first body appeared on the road.

* * *

><p>"Leon," the Prince shouted breathlessly. He'd abandoned his horse in the courtyard, among the rubble and blood-stained flagstones, and hurtled into the castle as fast as he could, almost cannoning into the knight as he'd come striding in the opposite direction. "Leon, what happened?"<p>

The knight was covered in sweat, his long hair plastered to his forehead with dried blood and dirt and sporting a small cut along the length of his cheek. Somehow, he still stood tall, looking his Prince straight in the eye in spite of obvious weariness that he must be feeling right now as the day's adrenaline slowly left his system.

"Morgana's Army, Sire, they attacked the citadel mere hours after you left."

Arthur's eyes narrowed. He silently cursed his father's blind stupidity when it came to handling Morgana – Uther had always underestimated her, never being able to see past that cool, serene exterior to glimpse the dangerous intelligence and the ruthlessness that lay within. It had always been his downfall in previous years, and Uther still hadn't learnt from his mistakes, confident in his own pride.

Arthur hated his father's pride.

"There were hundreds of men – we tried to hold them off as best we could, but they just kept coming no matter how many we managed to cut down."

Leon cast his eyes away, almost in shame.

"You're sure that they were men? Not sorcerers or some kind of magical beings?"

"They didn't use any magic that we could detect. To be honest –" Leon leaned in closer, not wanting anyone to overhear, "– they were very bad swordsmen, without any particular strategy or pattern. They were easy enough to kill – too easy."

This information didn't seem to tally up: if the opponent had been so easy to defeat, then why had they suffered such heavy losses? – Why was the hall filled up with bodies like a morgue, all of them Camelot's own rather than Morgana's?

Instead of trying to articulate his thoughts in a more eloquent way, Arthur settled for simply repeating his first question slightly more forcefully, reemphasising his words. "What happened?"

Leon shifted slightly, as if he was uneasy about the exact details.

"Every time one fell to the floor, another would appear in its place, the block constantly surging forwards no matter how hard we tried to stop them. At first the bodies just stayed were they were, and we carried on, thinking nothing of it. But even Camelot's army can't fight for the best part of the day against a never-ending stream of men without suffering losses. "

Arthur could see the truth in that fact – men would get tired, begin getting sloppy with their technique and their defence, and that's when the opponent would strike most effectively. And if what Leon said was accurate, then fighting for eight hours or so, non-stop would certainly push his men to their limits, with disastrous consequences.

"The bodies disappeared when dusk began drawing in, simply vanishing into thin air. Saying it startled the remaining men would be an understatement, considering their nerves were pretty rattled from being on constant guard all day, and when Morgana's supply of men seemed to stop as well – when there simply weren't any more, half of our men collapsed from sheer exhaustion rather than anything else. "

Leon looked pretty weary himself, and if not for the graveness of the situation Arthur would have almost considered telling him to take a couple of minutes off. Instead he settled for grasping the man's shoulder firmly, looking him straight in the eyes.

"I'm sorry that I wasn't here," he said sincerely. Leon gave him a brief smile, inclining his head slightly.

"Sire."

Arthur released the man's shoulder, his expression of comradeship disappearing in a matter of seconds only to be once again replaced by the air of urgency that filled the castle at the moment.

"Where is my father?"

The reply came automatically.

"In the Council Chamber."

Wrapped in his own thoughts, Arthur began making his way towards the large doors, strategy after strategy presenting itself in his head and all of them vying for his attention. After a beat Leon called after him, remembering one more important piece of information he needed to impart.

"Morgana left us a … message," the knight said, a note of dread filling his voice. The Prince turned back, eyebrows raised expectantly. Leon took a breath, shaking his head slightly in disbelief.

"She isn't done with Camelot – her forces return tomorrow, exactly as they did today."

* * *

><p>The banquet hall that was usually filled with so much laughter and merriment had been converted into an infirmary for the injured and the dying, Gaius' chambers nowhere near large enough to treat all of the wounded. The bodies were arranged in neat ordered rows, enabling Gaius to access and treat all of his patients with relative ease, but what shocked Merlin most was the sheer number of men here – although many were common villagers, a large number of the victims were marked out with Camelot red .<p>

Gaius was over the other side of the room, tending to a knight who Merlin recognised as only just joining the ranks, barely older than Merlin himself. Somewhere across the way he thought he spied Gwen scuttling around, rushing to and fro with water and bandages and soothing words – it put him slightly more at ease knowing that Gaius didn't have to deal with all of these invalids completely on his own.

"How many men are dead?" Merlin murmured hoarsely, trailing behind the physician as the old man began moving further down the row, retrieving a vial of foul-coloured liquid from inside his robes.

Gaius turned his head briefly, acknowledging Merlin's presence before returning his full focus to the task at hand. When he spoke it was with the weight of someone who had seen all of this before and had grown weary of how the scenes replayed.

"At least half the army, maybe more."

The was young knight let out a small whimper as Gaius began cleaning the wound on his shoulder, and even in the dim candle light Merlin could swear that he glimpsed the flash of white bone from beneath the man's ripped tunic. After a few seconds the knight seemed to regain control of himself, his lips pressed together so hard that they were turning white.

"It was a hard battle, Merlin. From what I gather Morgana's forces seemed to be never-ending, unlike our own supply."

Merlin shut his eyes against the torrent of images that began assaulting his mind, of battle and blood and cries.

"Gaius, I need to ask you something."

The old man sighed. "Not now Merlin, I simply don't have the time."

Gwen rushed past with new bandages, giving Merlin a brief smile, and Merlin did his best to give her as genuine a one as he could muster in return. Her hands were shaking and he fought off a desperate desire to run after her and gather her into his arms, providing her with what little comfort he could. After all, Arthur wasn't exactly free to provide it right now.

As soon as she was out of earshot, he tried again, doggedly following the physician and lowering his voice so that only Gaius would catch the words.

"There was an army in the woods, a massive army that filled the valley, but it was magic somehow – they appeared out of nowhere, and just stood there, not moving, not making any kind of sound at all. I'm not sure if they were even human."

Merlin's news seemed to have little impact at all – Gaius seemed to consider the information for a moment before visibly dismissing it, motioning for Merlin to pinch the man's nose whilst he poured the concoction down his throat.

"It wouldn't surprise me that those bodies that you spied in the forest were the bodies of the fallen – in the past, sorcerers have often kept the bodies of their dead so that they can utilise them when the need to. It would explain why there aren't any bodies left here now."

They finally reached the end of the row, the man occupying the length of floor unconscious, his face covered in grime and dirt. Gaius looked so weary in the dim light that Merlin felt a pang of annoyance at Uther for leaving him alone to attend to so many injured men with only Gwen for support – the task would have been tiring for a young man in his prime, let alone someone as old as Gaius.

"From what I can tell, those soldiers who attacked the city were definitely human. This time, I think Morgana wants to show Uther that she doesn't need magic to overthrow Camelot – Uther has made more than enough enemies for her to manipulate."

Merlin could tell that from the slight edge to the man's voice that Gaius was getting irritated so he bit back the next question, instead settling for a strained silence. There was something off with Gaius' explanation, something missing – so many things just didn't add up, but he couldn't seem to put the connections together to grasp the answer.

Gingerly letting the injured man back down to the floor, Gaius wiped his hands on the front of his tunic, satisfied that, for now, all the patients had been tended to as best he could.

"I've seen a lot of things Merlin, but not as bad as this. Not even during the time of the immortal army."

He pulled Merlin into a firm hug, surprising the boy.

"I'm glad you weren't out there today."

Merlin grasped him back, a lump forming in his throat. He knew what Gaius really meant. His magic still hadn't fully returned, and given the situation they had now found themselves in it would be a small miracle if he managed to last until the end of the war, given his proficiency with weaponry and his stubbornness to stay by Arthur's side. Maybe this time it would be best if he did stay with Gaius and tend to the wounded, out of the way.

He quickly pushed the thought out of his mind. If it came down to it, Merlin knew that his magic would not fail – recently he could almost feel it, bubbling beneath his skin, as if it was being held back by some kind of dam that only allowed it through in dips and drabs between the cracks. It gave him a small comfort to know that his magic hadn't deserted him, that it was still there, and it was because of this that he remained adamant to stay by Arthur's side no matter what. He wouldn't call it blind loyalty – although he had heard a number of people call it that a number of times – but it was definitely a form of loyalty, the kind that was mixed with trust and that formed the unbreakable bond between two friends who would never speak of it but always knew it was there.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and he smiled reassuringly at his mentor, answering the unspoken question with his eyes rather than his voice because he couldn't trust his voice not to betray his real feelings.

I'm sorry Gaius, they said, but I will be tomorrow.


	10. Chapter 10

**I'm concious that the last chapter only got two reviews, and some people thought the previous chapters were a bit boring, so I'm debating whether or not to do a rewrite - although, it was needed for plot purposes. I'm on the fence about it at the moment - I'll see how things go.**

**Anyway, here's the next chapter.**

**Review and enjoy~**

* * *

><p>Arthur stared out the window, watching without seeing as the first tendrils of morning light began stretching out across the horizon. The 'conversation' with his father still was ringing in ears – Arthur had tried to bring up the situation of Morgana using magic against them and how they would cope, but Uther had shouted him down and told him that they'd coped just fine before.<p>

What Arthur really wanted to do was to shake his stubborn father, make him see sense. That was different – she hadn't declared war so openly then, skulking in the shadows instead of confronting them face-to-face as she was now. He couldn't shake the feeling that Morgana was convinced that she had a fail-safe plan – and, he recalled with a sinking feeling, when she was convinced of something she was usually right.

He let out a long breath, composing himself. Today was not a day for doubts.

A small crash and a shuffle, followed by a breathless "sorry!" pulled him out of his thoughts, as the lanky form of Merlin staggered into Arthur's line of vision, his arms laden with what the Prince assumed must be his breakfast. Not that he really had the stomach to eat today.

"You're dressed!" Merlin exclaimed, his eyes wide.

"Yes Merlin," Arthur retorted, "No matter how incompetent you seem to think I am, I'll have you know that I grasped the concept of dressing myself a long time ago."

"This is different," the servant said quietly, placing the food on the table and stepping towards the Prince with a serious expression on his face, "I thought it was my job to help you into your armour?"

Seeing Merlin so sombre, it made Arthur uneasy.

"Wipe that ridiculous expression off your face, _Mer_lin, we're not going to a funeral. Serious doesn't suit you."

Arthur suddenly realised what was missing, mentally kicking himself for not noticing it before.

"Are you not wearing armour?"

Merlin looked down at himself too, as if checking that what Arthur said was true – no, no armour was to be found. He glanced up again and shrugged.

"I can't move in that stuff."

The Prince ran a critical eye down the boy's frame.

"Do you even have a sword? I'm assuming that you _do_ still remember how to use one?"

Merlin scowled.

"I thought we were using crossbows today? I can't use them both _at the same time, _you know – I only have two arms. Besides, who needs a sword when you have a crossbow that does all the work for you?"

* * *

><p>They were positioned on the battlements, Arthur leading from the centre and shouting the orders to the archers around him. Leon was leading the rest of the knights from below, and if Merlin really strained his eyes he could just make out the dark hair of Gwaine, apple in hand. He had to suppress a smile at that – Gwaine was never one to keep to protocol. To be honest, it was a credit to Arthur for keeping the knight in line as much as he had.<p>

They were not the only ones with archers today. As Arthur roared the order to fire, they were met in kind with a volley of flaming arrows that soared out of nowhere, scarring the sky with burning arcs. As soon as the bolts had been released, every single man ducked against the wall, flattening themselves as much as they could against it.

There was a small grunt of surprise from Merlin's elbow, and the man beside him fell, an arrow in his shoulder. Startled, Merlin looked directly upwards, and to his surprise he found that he could pinpoint another flaming dot in the sky, a few meters above his head and falling. Fast. Towards him.

He flung out an arm automatically, instinctively trying to conjure a shield, willing his magic to do _something_. His already pounding heart began to beat wildly against his ribcage, trying to break free, and when nothing happened to halt the arrow's flight he found himself simply watching it fall, unable to look away. All he could think of was that he was wrong, and that his magic wasn't able to protect him in his greatest need, and that he had failed Arthur.

And then suddenly the world was sideways, a large weight on his right side, pinning him down uncomfortably on the cold stone. If Merlin tilted his head slightly he could just make out a mop of dirty blonde hair half hidden behind a mess of chainmail and smoke.

"Thanks," he muttered, scraping his knees on the broken stone as he rushed to scramble back to the relative safety of the wall.

"Anytime."

* * *

><p>"Change!"<p>

As the command was given for the fourth time that day, Arthur watched with a grim satisfaction as the two groups of knights swapped places so smoothly you'd think that they'd been born into battle. The swapping action was a rather ingenious idea of his, providing each group with that few minutes of rest that they so desperately needed, sacrificing number for effectiveness. After all, a man can only run on pure adrenaline for so long.

They'd run out of arrows hours ago, now simply providing cover for those down below by throwing whatever items they could lay their hands on over the edge of the battlements and into the fray. The prince looked over to Merlin, the boy's movements slowed by fatigue but his eyes as alert as ever, completely focussed on the task at hand. If you ignored the slight hint of terror that lay behind that determination, and the lack of armour, you could almost take him for one of the knights of the realm. Almost. If it wasn't for those ridiculous ears.

Down below he heard Leon echo his order, the man's hair slicked red with blood and plastered to his face. The men down below were getting weary – the number of losses they were sustaining was rising again, and as he watched the men fight and fall Arthur couldn't stop himself from wondering how Morgana could have so much hate inside of her that it drove her to do this. It was inhuman.

When day turned to night and Morgana's forces disappeared, nobody had the energy to even ask where they had gone.

* * *

><p>"Can we get no reinforcements?"<p>

Merlin heard the angry shout emanate from behind the closed doors of the council chambers and he stepped away rapidly, the hand that he was about to use to announce his presence dropping quickly to his side.

When the answer came, it echoed what he had thought all along, Uther's voice weary and edged with a hint of regret that sounded so out of character for one so cold.

"We have no one to call upon."

* * *

><p>The dragon called to him that night.<p>

"You're late, young warlock."

Merlin let out a small noise of indignation.

"What did you expect me to do, waltz straight out of the castle gates? We're in the middle of a war right now, if it's escaped your notice, and 'outside Camelot's borders' is actually a pretty long way to ride in the middle of the night when you _don't have a horse_."

The great dragon inclined his head slightly. "I see everything, young Warlock, nothing escapes my notice."

There was a pause, as if he expected Merlin to say something, and in that silence the boy's magic reacted before his brain did. Or, what should have been his magic. The dull ache Merlin's chest swelled as he felt the dragon's magic around him, reminding him of what he'd lost, and suddenly he found that he was struggling find a coherent way of voicing what he needed to say.

"My magic." The words came out almost as a choked sob. "I've lost my magic and I don't know why."

"What?" The single word rumbled in all directions, reverberating across the trees and making the very earth beneath their feet shake. If dragons could shout – well, he was pretty sure that Kilgharrah was close. "Why did you not tell me this before – the moment you knew?"

Merlin looked away, a lump in his throat.

"I couldn't, could I? I didn't have any magic with which to call you."

Making that admission hurt more than anything else – he'd been learning to cope with the limited resources that he had, but now, surrounded by this power, everything was coming undone.

"I thought that if I truly had lost my magic then you would know, and you'd call to me or something – that's what Gaius said anyway, that it's a phase that I'm going through and that my body's working to replenish it or something – and anyway, it's coming back now, slowly."

He knew he was rambling, but he just wanted the dragon to _say something_, to reassure him that everything would be fine, that indeed his magic was returning and it was all just some kind of blip.

"There is some truth in the old man's words." The dragon conceded, his eyes fixed on Merlin as if he could actually see the magic inside him. Which, to be honest, he probably could. "Do you really believe that destiny can be thwarted that easily – you, the all-powerful _Emrys_?"

He scrutinised the boy for a few moments more, Merlin shifting uncomfortably under the intensity of the gaze.

"There is a reason why I asked to meet you here, outside of Camelot's borders. There is an enchantment over Camelot – a very old, very strong enchantment. It stops any magic inside Camelot functioning. I've known of it for some time now, but I simply thought that with your power you would overcome it."

Merlin was having trouble processing the information, still stuck on the part where Kilgharrah told him that _he had known about this all along_.

"But then, Morgana –"

"It only stops magic with an attachment to Camelot, magic working for the kingdom rather than against it. Like yours," the beast added helpfully.

"So I'm supposed to just wait around until my magic _overcomes _this enchantment?" The hole in his chest was fast filling with an anger that rose out of the embers of his despair like some kind of revenge-seeking ghost. "Why didn't you tell me this before – why did you just _assume _that I'd be okay?"

He was close to shouting himself now, his eyes filling with hot tears that he was adamant not to spill.

"I've been going out of my mind! I thought I'd failed – failed Arthur, failed destiny, everything, and yet you knew all along!"

The dragon just stood there with that stare of his, those dark eyes not giving anything away, and Merlin felt his anger begin to fade away as quickly as it came. It wasn't worth it – getting angry with the dragon was like trying to provoke a reaction from a brick wall, and he simply didn't have the energy.

"Can you break it? The enchantment?"

He already knew the answer.

"I cannot interfere, Merlin. It is fate for Morgana and Arthur to wage war, and win it he must. It is the way it works. The magic is of a different sort to mine."

The beast turned his head slightly, a curious glint in his eye.

"After all, her forces are human, are they not?"

There was something ominous in his words, something not quite right, but Merlin was too tired to care.

"Why did you call me here, Kilgharrah? Just to tell me that I haven't lived up to your expectations? Just to tell me that Camelot is going to have to fight this war on its own? Because, without using magic, really it's just a matter of time before we cave – Morgana's going to use magic at some point, and when she does we don't stand a chance."

There was a moment of silence, but when the dragon finally spoke his voice was tinged with real regret, the regret of someone who has seen too much.

"I am sorry, but there is nothing that I can do. Believe me, if there was some way for ensure Arthur's victory then I would – I do not wish to see the kingdom fall, but I even I cannot enter Camelot's borders now. You _must _break this enchantment."

"But surely if Arthur is destined to unite the kingdom of Albion, then it is fated that he wins this battle? That Camelot survives?"

The dragon fixed him with a long stare.

"Destiny can be changed, young warlock. Surely you of all people know that."

* * *

><p>By the end of the third day they had to retreat to the citadel, pulling back their forces and going into 'siege' mode. They simply didn't have the numbers or the energy to keep on fighting in the way they had been.<p>

Morgana sent another message that night, in the form of a knight long dead, his dark hair matted with blood and a long gash running down the front of his chest, staining his grey tunic the colour of rust. A colour that Merlin never wanted to see again. The body managed to stumble through the doors somehow, and stood, dripping, in the middle of the hall, addressing knight and peasant alike.

When it spoke, it was with her voice.

"I grow tired of this – as I'm sure you do – so I'll speed things up a bit. One more day, that's all you have. One more day until the sorcerers arrive and the new age begins. I give you this warning out of the goodness of my heart – I advise you prepare."

A strangled sob came from a corner of the room as the body crashed to the ground, its limbs splayed grotesquely over the flagstones. All hell broke loose then, people crying and screaming in terror, shouting for order, shouting curses. Merlin was sure that somewhere he could hear a voice louder than the others , probably Arthur's, roaring commands and asking for calm, but it was all just a wave of sound to him.

Amidst the chaos the boy just stood there, the words of the dragon echoing in his head until he couldn't distinguish one thing from another anymore.

This was it, the final declaration of war. And in the few days since learning of Morgana's enchantment he hadn't worked out a way to overcome it – he'd searched through the entire contents of the library, interrogated Gaius, looked in every book that he could think of, but it everything had proved fruitless. He couldn't use his magic.

Merlin couldn't see a way out of this. He just couldn't. He turned on his heel and managed to make it one of the back corridors between the council chambers and the great hall before he broke, the tears sliding silently down his face as he pressed his head to the wall in the darkness and wished that he could somehow make everything right.

All he could see in his mind was the horrified look on Gwen's face when Elyan had been carried in from the battlefield with a wound large enough to make even Gaius grimace, and the way that Arthur scrunched his eyes against the pain every time he put on his armour, when he thought nobody could see.

So much for destiny.

* * *

><p>"We have instructions to go and call upon the Druids for help."<p>

Merlin looked at the Prince as if he'd sprouted an extra head, dropping the sword he'd been cleaning – Arthur's sword – to the ground with a clatter, not noticing when it skittered under the table and out of arm's reach.

"Uther," he said slowly, sure that he'd missed some important detail here or that Arthur was just making a misguided joke, "has asked us – you – his only son – to _leave_ the battle and go and find the _druids, _known magic users."

"As we have no magic of our own."

Merlin spluttered. "And whose fault is that? May be if _someone _hadn't had every single person with a hint of magic _executed _then we would! Why this sudden change of heart now?"

"Merlin," Arthur warned, his voice dangerously low, as his servant carried on obliviously.

"Surely it can't be his own idea! I mean, let's be honest, Uther would rather boil in his own blood and let Camelot fall than call on the magic he hates to come and save him –"

"_Never_ talk about my father in that way." It came out as a low growl, and Merlin knew he had overstepped the mark.

"I'm sorry," he hastily backtracked, arms up in way of apology, "I just meant –"

Arthur shot him a dirty look, and Merlin stopped talking.

"It was my idea."

Gwaine and Lancelot were waiting for them by the castle gates, horses fully saddled – no words were exchanged, they simply mounted and left, riding as fast as they could under the cover of the night. Merlin guessed that Arthur hadn't told them the real reason behind their expedition, but he also knew that they didn't need one – if Arthur needed them, they would go.

They had never rode so fast before – there was not talk, no cheerful banter, just the sound of the horses' hooves chopping up the ground below them as they flew across it.

Arthur knew what a risk this was – the druids didn't stay in one place, they simply roamed the land settling in one place or another when they felt like it. All he had to go on were a few sightings, a couple of rumours, his own intuition. Heck, there wasn't even any guarantee that they'd agree to see him, let alone help him, considering his father's reputation.

There was a small nagging voice in the back of his mind telling him that he was stupid and that they were magic users and not to be trusted, that he should turn back and help protect the kingdom instead of running off on a wild goose chase, but he did his best to ignore it. It was going against everything that he'd ever been taught, everything that his father had ever drilled into him, but there was a time and a place for tradition and this was not one of them.

He had to face up to the facts – Morgana using magic against them, and when she did they would have absolutely no way of stopping her.

* * *

><p>"Are you alright?"<p>

Merlin had given up on sleep hours ago. It was impossible, with so many thoughts clamouring for his attention, like the fact that even if they could find the druids, the magic wouldn't work because it was magic _for _Camelot and Morgana's enchantment rendered anything of that vein completely useless. Or the way that the druids would turn on Arthur in an instant if they realised that Emrys had no magic, closing the Prince's heart towards it forever. Or the way that he was so tired and just didn't know what to _do._

"Yeah," he murmured, managing a small smile. Lancelot wasn't fooled.

"Could you not just – ?" The man waved his hand in the air to illustrate Merlin's magic, smiling slightly as he did so. The smile fell when Merlin's expression momentarily morphed into pure despair, and the knight suddenly realised his mistake.

"I'm sorry," Lancelot whispered, "I didn't realise that you still couldn't – you know –"

"I still can't."

The words were accompanied by such a heart-wrenching sigh that Lancelot was surprised that Merlin didn't sink into the ground with the weight of it. When the boy rolled over and fell silent, his mind full of druids and steel and 'emrys'_,_ Lancelot simply didn't have the heart to push him further.


	11. Chapter 11

**So, next chapter. I know where I'm going with this now (more or less) so it should be a bit easier to write! Thanks for those reviews - I'm glad that the majority didn't find those chapters boring, so I reckon 'll keep them, at least until the fic is finished.**

**As always, reviews are very very welcome!**

**Enjoy~**

* * *

><p>"Wood, Merlin."<p>

After the constant conflict and fighting and worry of the previous week, suddenly the prospect of gathering wood seemed much more appealing than it had ever been before.

It was almost comforting really, the normality of the task. Merlin found his thoughts drifting as he absent-mindedly began gathering fallen branches, checking for damp and moss. The forest here was rooted in magic, most of the trees so old and cracked that it was surprising that they still managed to support themselves in the harsh winds that often ravaged this land.

Above him, the branch cracked.

Without meaning to, he felt his eyes flash gold, the magic in him rushing outwards as it always tried to.

The branch stopped mid-air.

Merlin forgot how to breathe for a second, the blood rushing in his ears suddenly unnaturally loud in the silence of the glade. Nothing moved.

Slowly, he blinked.

The branch fell to the ground with a soft thud.

The boy drew in a shaky breath, eyes transfixed on the branch at his feet.

It worked.

His magic had worked.

The dragon had said that the enchantment stopped magic working for Camelot, protecting the kingdom whilst within its borders, but they had passed through those borders hours ago. Merlin just hadn't thought to try.

His face broke out into a grin.

A small whoop of joy echoed through the trees, one full of exhilaration. Merlin was about to let out another, but the image of a disgruntled Arthur flashed into his mind, causing him to dissolve into a silent, more dignified fit of elated laughter instead. If any of the knights found him like this, smiling like a madman – well, this wasn't something that would be easy to explain away.

He let his eyes flash gold again and the leaves danced in front of his small figure.

By the time the initial rush of happiness had left him, the forest held little resemblance to how it had appeared when Merlin had first stepped into it. The ground was littered with patches of scorched grass, the one closest to him still smoking, and most of the leaves on the ground had been blown in a very unnatural way, revealing the bare earth underneath them.

It was good, being able to feel his magic again, unrestricted. He knelt down, scooping some of the fallen branches from the ground – he'd almost forgotten the real reason for this detour – and straightened, surveying the destruction of the wilderness around him with sparkling eyes. It wasn't an ugly sight – far from it – but, nevertheless, he got the feeling that if this was the druid's land, then they wouldn't take too kindly to the almighty Emrys trashing their land simply because he felt 'happy'.

A soft smile spread across his face as he muttered the incantation to return the land to how it had been – he could feel his magic rushing to obey his will with the bubbling enthusiasm of someone who's been asleep for far too long, and it amused him that he actually had to concentrate on reining it in, something that he hadn't had to do since he was young.

* * *

><p>"<em>Mer<em>lin. So glad you decided to join us." If possible, Arthur was drawn even tighter than he had been the night before – he could literally feel every single second that ticked by, every second spent away from the kingdom he was meant to protect, and he couldn't quite get rid of the feeling that this was a stupid idea after all.

Merlin, on the other hand, seemed like he'd stumbled upon a 'tree of enlightenment' whilst out on his walk – even Arthur couldn't miss the change in the boy's demeanour as the servant _bounced_ back towards him, as if a terrible weight had been finally lifted from his shoulders.

"I've got the wood!" he announced triumphantly, dropping it at the Prince's feet. Looking around, only then did he seem to notice that Lancelot and Gwaine had already mounted their horses, regarding him with expressions of barely hid amusement.

Merlin turned back to Arthur, wide-eyed.

"Are we leaving?"

Arthur gave him _that look_, the one that said that Merlin wasn't really worthy of being part of the human race if he had to ask questions like that, and Merlin shut up.

"My sources say that the Druids should be around here somewhere, so keep your eyes open," the Prince cautioned, spurring his horse into action. "We ride until we find them."

* * *

><p>The valley had been the scene of many magical conflicts – there was magic all around, lost in the ground, centuries old. What better place for a druid camp?<p>

_Emrys._

He didn't hear the voice as such – at least, not through his ears – but _felt _it, as if it was speaking straight into his mind. It was very disconcerting, and made Merlin sit straighter in his saddle, his grip on the reins tightening slightly.

_Emrys. Emrys has arrived._

It wasn't just one voice, it was the voices of many, their whispers creating a wall of noise not unlike the roar of the sea raging in his mind. Merlin cast a quick glance towards the others, but none of them seemed to be affected by these mental companions. He quickly lowered his gaze again, the movement of the landscape combined with the growing crescendo of the whispering making him feel queasy. The last time he had felt like this –

A thought of the boy, Mordred, flitted into his head and he quickly pushed it away.

At least they knew that the Druids were, indeed, around here. There was no mistaking this form of communication – silently, Merlin wondered why magical beings couldn't just talk like normal people: Kilgharrah had insisted on conversing like this initially, just as Mordred had, and things had not really ended well with either of them.

_Where are you? _he tried to ask, but no reply came. His eyes flicked from side to side, scanning the area for any sign of movement – there was no welcome in those voices, just hostility. Merlin was worried that they were walking straight into a conflict of the kind that they had just escaped from.

"Arthur – " he began, his voice sounding thick and clumsy to his ears compared to those in his mind. It was only when he got no response that Merlin realised that he hadn't actually said it out loud.

He wetted his lips nervously, his eyes never leaving the trees.

"Arthur!"

He had a bad feeling about this.

_What are you doing on our land, Emrys?_ The voices were getting louder, more agitated. All Merlin wanted to was to curl into a ball, hands clamped over his ears to stop the cacophony of voices from filling his head. The world was beginning to rock slightly.

"Merlin?" Lancelot was beside him.

"The Druids are here," Merlin said in a low voice, closing his eyes, "And they don't sound happy. None of them do."

Immediately, Lancelot began eyeing the high banks around them suspiciously. "Where are they?"

Merlin let out a small breathless chuckle, tapping the side of his head. "In here."

Lancelot looked at the boy like he'd gone mad. "In where?"

"Telepathic communication – they're speaking in my head, all of them at once. I'm not sure whether they realise or not." But I'd bet that they do, he added silently. "Tell Arthur to be careful."

As they approached the end of the valley, the voices began to drown out all other sounds. It was deafening. The next time he looked up, Lancelot was once again riding beside him, and Merlin wondered idly how he'd managed to explain to Arthur what was going on without using the word 'magic'. The druid camp was ahead of them, barely visible through the trees, and it was obvious that they weren't welcome.

"They're here," he breathed. "And they don't want us."

A single druid stood at the exit to the valley, a cloaked man with a gnarled staff. His gaze was not on Arthur, but on Merlin, and his expression was far from welcoming.

"That looks like a pretty cool toy," Gwaine muttered, earning a reprimanding look from the Prince.

"Quiet, Gwaine, I'll be doing the talking," he hissed, "We can't afford to blow this chance."

Gwaine pouted, rubbing his chest. "My feelings are deeply hurt by that accusation."

Arthur glared again. "And if anything goes wrong, I want you to get out of here as fast as possible. It is because of the kingdom that we are here now, and if anything happens I need you to go back to its aid immediately. Don't wait for me."

His eyes lingered on Merlin for a second.

Urging his horse forwards, Arthur took a deep breath, the weight of the kingdom's fate resting heavily on his shoulders.

* * *

><p>Arthur dismounted, hands raised in way of greeting.<p>

For all his uncertainties, he still managed to look like the arrogant, self-righteous prat that he had been brought up to be, and Merlin was worried that Arthur was going to put his foot in it and blow their chances straight away. Beside him, he could tell that Lancelot thought the same.

"I am Arthur, Prince of Camelot, and I come to talk with your people."

"What has the Prince of Camelot got to say to us? You have no business here – what do you want to do? Persecute us, like you have the rest of our kind? Burn us?"

Arthur's eyes narrowed at the druid's tone. "No, I've simply come to –"

"There is a war going on, is there not? Is the witch Morgana proving too much for Camelot to handle on its own?"

Arthur drew his sword. Merlin felt like slapping the Prince – of all the stupid things he could've done, this was one of the worst. The druid raised his staff in way of reply, and Arthur's eyes widened slightly as he suddenly remembered that this man _had magic._

Arthur was going to get himself killed before they'd even started negotiating. Merlin quickly surveyed the area – there were no other druids nearby, as far as he could see, and hopefully Gwaine would be too preoccupied to notice if any extra magic went on. The druid's lips began to move, and Merlin realised that he had to act _now._

_"Ic i ályne!"_

Unfortunately, his over-enthusiastic magic reacted more than he had meant it to – instead of merely stopping the spell, when Merlin's eyes had returned to their normal colour _nothing was moving at all._ Arthur had been frozen, Merlin realised with a hint of amusement, at the exact point when he had realised his mistake – the realisation was written all over his face. If there was a way to capture the expression, frame it and then show it to Arthur every time he wouldn't listen to his servant's advice, then Merlin would take it gladly.

In fact, the only thing moving other than Merlin himself was the druid. Suddenly, being alone with an angry druid didn't seem the best of ideas.

"Oh. I – I didn't mean to do that," Merlin stuttered innocently, hoping very much that he'd be able to reverse the spell, "Did I stop time again?"

"Emrys." The single word sounded like a shout in the unnatural silence. "What do you mean by coming here?"

Merlin's gaze flickered involuntarily to the frozen Arthur. The responsibility for the kingdom fell to him now, and he wouldn't mess it up.

"Morgana is attacking Camelot. She plans to destroy the kingdom, kill both Uther and Arthur, and rule over the land with evil sorcery. The destiny of the kingdom hangs in the balance, and we come as both Emrys and King Arthur, the once and future king, to seek your help."

The druid didn't seem very interested by this. "Why should we help you? You may be Emrys, but that means nothing to us – Uther has persecuted so many of our kind, and Prince Arthur would do the same. Why should we help Camelot?"

Merlin was getting tired of hearing this line over and over again. "Arthur is destined to unite the kingdom of Albion and reunite it with magic. Is that not reason enough?"

The man regarded him coldly. "Is that not what Morgana promises as well?"

These druids were nothing like those who he had met before – yes, they were a dwindling, persecuted people, but their trials had turned them cold and hard, ignoring the very prophecy that their kind had made. He swallowed, struggling to keep his anger in check.

"No. No, it's not. She will kill thousands of innocent people and wipe out Camelot's very existence – Arthur will unite land and magic by doing what is right. I am Emrys – you know what I am destined to do. Do you really believe that I am wrong?"

"Our seer has told us of what will occur, Emrys. He foretold of your arrival, has told us of what you want and what you wish to accomplish. He has told us of the outcome."

There was something ominous in the man's voice, just like there had been in Kilgharrah's. Merlin had the suspicion that there was some important fact that he was missing here, something that no one was telling him. He swallowed thickly, careful to not let his uncertainty show.

"And what of it?"

"There are many possible outcomes, not all of them in your favour. Your good prince will be the one to ultimately decide how this ends."

Merlin rolled his eyes – the response sounded exactly like one of Kilgharrah's riddles. The man continued.

"We know of the enchantment on Camelot – why come here when you know full well that even if we agree to come to Camelot's aid, our power will be useless?"

Merlin had been asking himself the same question and still not come up with an answer. Regardless, he drew himself up to his full height and met the man's gaze defiantly, adamant that he would sound convincing even if it wasn't the complete truth.

"I can break the enchantment. I know of a way."

From the beginning, Merlin had suspicions that the druid had already made his choice and all of this convincing was just for show, but this final announcement made him sure – the druid knew that Merlin didn't have a clue, and it showed on his face. The silence that spread out between them felt like the longest that Merlin had ever experienced, and the waiting –

He owed it to Arthur not to get this wrong, but he simply didn't know what the druid was thinking. The waiting was killing him.

"We will come when the enchantment is broken."

Merlin let out a breath that he hadn't realised he'd been holding. "Do you swear it?"

A small, stern smile appeared briefly on the Druid's face, then disappeared again, as if he was unused to such movements. "We swear it on all that is good in this world. You have my word."

Merlin could feel the magic weighting those words, feel the way that world shifted slightly when they were said. This was a promise of the old ways, a promise that was impossible to break.

It was exactly what Arthur had wanted, what could save the kingdom and everyone in it.

"Thank you," he murmured.

"Do not be so quick with your thanks." The voice was sharp, but the look in the man's eyes was something close to pity. "Our seer knows all, Emrys, even that which you don't. He has seen things concerning you – your future, your past, the magic inside. The information you discover may not be to your liking. "

_It would do you well to consider whether the side you stand on is the one most fitting._

Before Merlin could ask him what he meant, sound assaulted his ears – the druid had removed the enchantment that Merlin had placed on the land, and life had returned to the valley. Arthur looked at Merlin in shock, and the boy realised that it must seem to him as if he'd moved from his horse to the Prince's side in the space of a second – something not easily explained.

"How come you never move this fast in training?" Arthur muttered, his voice low.

"I guess it's because you never do something stupid like draw your sword on a sorcerer," came the innocent reply, and Arthur gave him a brief smile before gesturing for the boy to get behind him.

When Arthur finally returned his attention to the druid, he couldn't shake the feeling that something in the man's demeanour had changed ever so slightly.

"Leave this place. We let you find our camp, but do not search for us again."

Arthur was not about to let the only person who could provide the link that could save Camelot get away. Putting his sword onto the ground in a gesture of peace, he began the speech that he'd put together so carefully in his mind on the ride here.

"Look, I apologise for what my father – for what I – have done to your people. I know that it is hard to forgive what we have done, but I come here –"

"We know what you've come for, Arthur Pendragon. The sins of your father are not easy to forget, and fighting against others of our kind is not something that we will do lightly."

Arthur felt his only chance slipping through his fingers and he began to interrupt, but the druid hadn't finished.

"It is lucky for Camelot that there is one who has a power and faith so true that even we can be swayed to stand with you. We agree to come to Camelot's aid, when our condition is met."

Merlin felt Gwaine's eyes on him, and did his best to try and seem as bemused as Arthur was.

The Prince's face was the picture of confusion. "What?"

"It is none of your concern. If all is well, I swear that we will come to your aid. I only hope that you are the great and noble king that the legends say you are, for everyone's sake."

_For Emrys' sake._

The druid's eyes hardened. The conversation was over.

_The dragon knows._

"Now, leave."

* * *

><p>Both Lancelot and Gwaine had dismounted. Arthur walked back towards them in a daze, running a hand through his hair and looking thoroughly perplexed. "Well, that was easier than I imagined."<p>

"What was all that about a condition?"

Gwaine looked suspicious, but thankfully Arthur seemed too relieved to care.

"I don't know – I don't suppose it matters though, does it? They swore that they'd come to our aid." He let out a short bark of disbelieving laughter, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. "Now all we have to do is bring the good news to my father." The Prince swung himself onto his horse, his smile mirrored by Gwaine who was finding Arthur's reaction terribly amusing.

Walking slowly towards his horse, Merlin felt himself go limp as all the tension left him – he stumbled, his legs turning to jelly as the relief that _he'd done it right_ flooded his body.

A hand was on his back, steadying him. No words were needed – Lancelot's dark eyes shone with pride, and Merlin couldn't help smiling as the man discreetly helped him onto his horse, his few words of praise making the boy positively glow inside. "I don't know what you did, but you did well."


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: I'm usually really slow at writing these chapters, but I've had more time recently so I thought I'd upload the next chapter early! Consider it a valentine's day gift from me to all of you Merlin fans 3**

* * *

><p>Merlin needed to speak with the dragon.<p>

After thundering as fast as they could back the way that they had come, Arthur had finally conceded that they would have to stop for a few hours rest before continuing to Camelot. They would rise a few hours before sunrise, giving him time to consult with his father and go over tactics for the battle. He had a feeling that his father would need a great deal of consulting - especially where the druids were concerned. Hopefully, his father's duty to his kingdom would override his hatred of magic just long enough for the druids come, defeat Morgana's forces and then leave, without Uther doing anything rash.

Merlin put a hand to his face as he stared up at the sky, the dying embers of the fire creating flickering shadows on the trees around him. He could feel a headache coming on. In a few hours, Morgana would unleash her full force upon Camelot, and yet here he was, still at square one. The only difference was that Arthur thought that they had a saviour in the form of the druids, and those same druids thought that Merlin could break the enchantment. It was all just a vicious circle of lies, centred around the stupid enchantment that he couldn't fathom how to break.

If Kilgharrah knew, then why didn't he tell Merlin when he'd asked? Why did he keep the information to himself? The druid had been so sure in the dragon's knowledge – the only possibility was that Kilgharrah had some kind of ulterior motive, and Merlin hadn't been asking the right questions. He didn't want to have to command him, but if it came to that –

"It's a nice night, isn't it?" Lancelot's soft voice came out of the darkness to Merlin's right, surprising him. "You'd never think that tomorrow all hell is going to break loose."

Merlin knew what he meant. Out here, if he closed his eyes and really, _really _tried then it was quite easy to forget that somewhere not so far away, Camelot and all they loved were battling for survival – a battle that they were returning to.

"What're you thinking about?" Merlin glanced to his right and found Lancelot propped up on one arm, studying him with a concerned expression on his face. Merlin considered answering that he was thinking about the best way to put rat droppings in Arthur's soup without him noticing, but Lancelot's eyebrows were doing a very convincing imitation of Gaius, and Merlin found himself swallowing his words.

"There's been something on your mind for some time now – and I mean something more than surviving this onslaught." Lancelot's voice lowered slightly, until it was almost a whisper. "I see you sometimes, when you think that no one's looking. You look as if you're struggling to find something to believe in any more."

It was so close to the truth that Merlin almost told him everything there and then. It would be such a relief to spill the secrets that he'd been guarding so fiercely – Morgana's enchantment, Kilgharrah's predictions, the promise he made to the druid_ – _but he couldn't. The breaking of the enchantment and everything that it entailed was his responsibility – it was he who swore to the druids that he would remove it, and it was because of him that Arthur believed that Camelot would be saved. He didn't want to have to admit that he _couldn't _do it – least of all to Lancelot, the man who believed in him the most.

"I … I can't."

Lancelot was determined to get _something _out of the boy – Merlin had been left stewing in anxiety for days now, and that never did anyone any good.

"At least tell me about what the druid said – that's got something to do with it too, hasn't it? You've got worse ever since they promised to help. You've barely spoken." He paused for a moment. "Arthur asked me about it."

Merlin cast his eyes down, torn between revealing and retreating. He decided to divert the subject.

"Arthur? He's got better things to do that worry about his _servant._"

"You're not just his servant, Merlin."

"Why couldn't he just show it then?" The words came out bitter, and Merlin felt his ears flush. "I know that everyone's really preoccupied at the moment because of Morgana and Uther and 'duty' and 'responsibility', but he's not the only one with responsibilities."

_But Arthur doesn't know about your responsibilities, does he?_

He took in a deep breath, surprised at his sudden outburst but unwilling to regret it. He could feel Lancelot's sympathetic gaze on him, but right now he wasn't quite ready to meet the man's eyes.

"I feel as if we're going back to the way we were before, before the round table and the immortal army. Everyone has their place now – Arthur as regent, Gwen at his side, and all of you have finally been accepted as knights. Don't get me wrong, it's great, but where do I fit in? Arthur still thinks I'm an incompetent servant who's a waste of space – I hardly see you or Gwaine anymore because you're always training, and then there was the whole thing with my magic – it made me realise that without my magic, I really am nothing, and I just –"

His voice trailed off. He heard Lancelot shift next to him, almost guiltily. "Merlin –"

"But it's fine - I mean, it doesn't bother me that much, not really. It's more that there's something I have to do – a problem that I have to solve, and I –" He took a breath, concious that voicing his doubts somehow made them seem more real. "– I don't know how."

"A magical one?"

"Yes."

"One that has the future of Camelot hanging in the balance?"

Something in the man's voice made Merlin look up. Lancelot was smirking fondly at him.

"Oh, you know me so well," came Merlin's sarcastic reply.

There was truth in the boy's words, no matter how much he tried to deny it – Lancelot was painfully aware that Merlin's path was a lonely one, no matter how easy he made it seem, and as one of the only people that Merlin had entrusted his secret to, Lancelot felt that it was his responsibility to try and ease that burden at least a little. He hadn't been trying that much lately.

Reaching over, Lancelot placed a firm hand on the boy's shoulder, hoping that the simple gesture would convey everything that he felt, that he wanted to say.

"I wish I could help you," he said seriously, "I would do anything – anything at all. We all would."

"It's okay." It wasn't, but Merlin was used to it. "You should get some sleep. There'll be a lot of fighting tomorrow. Gwaine will be in heaven."

A low chuckle reached his ears. "He loves any occasion to try and show Arthur up." Another silence descended them over them, and Merlin let his eyes close for a moment, not in an effort to sleep but in an effort to try and get his mind thinking more clearly.

"You could stay here, you know. You're not a knight, no one would think any different of you." Lancelot pulled his cloak closer to his body in an effort to ward off the coldness of the night. "Your magic works here, doesn't it?"

Merlin smiled. There really was nothing that got past Lancelot.

"I think I'll pass. Arthur needs someone to save his royal behind when Morgana shows up."

Merlin turned his eyes to the sky again. He'd grown accustomed to the constant gnawing worry in his stomach, but the immediacy of the morrow's battle brought a new wave crashing over him – a paralysing fear that sent his head spinning. He rubbed his eyes as the stars began to swim.

"What would he do without me, right?"

* * *

><p>It was another half an hour or so before Lancelot also surrendered to sleep. Tiptoeing out of the camp, Merlin hazarded a guess that he had one, maybe two hours before they had to leave to get to Camelot for the breaking of the dawn.<p>

Stumbling through the darkness of the forest, he walked for a good twenty minutes before calling the dragon. There were a good many things that he needed to ask the beast, and he had a feeling that Kilgharrah may not be very compliant with his wishes. He decided that directness was the best course of action.

"The druids tell me that you know how to break the enchantment."

The dragon studied him with interest. "So, you have persuaded the druids to come to your aid – that is no mean feat. Arthur would do well to put more faith in you." That last part stung slightly, but Merlin let it pass. "Although, I do stand by what I said before – I cannot interfere. I am affected by the magic just as you are."

Merlin couldn't shake the feeling that the dragon was trying to skirt around the subject.

"The druid told me that their seer has seen things – things about me and my magic. He said that there were things that I may not want to hear, and that I should choose my side carefully. Do you have any idea what he meant?"

Kilgharrah rumbled his reply. "That, I also do not know. Perhaps they are referring to the fact that you are Emrys, an all-powerful sorcerer, yet you are fighting for a kingdom led by Uther Pendragon, a persecutor of all our kind?"

Why was it, Merlin thought angrily to himself, that Kilgharrah only spoke plainly when he wasn't being helpful?

"Kilgharrah, I don't know how to break the enchantment. We ride out in an hour – if I can't break the enchantment, then the druids will not come to our aid and Camelot will fall. All that I've done will be for nothing – if you know anything, then _please_ tell me."

The dragon looked at him, eyes filled with something resembling pity, and Merlin felt the gnawing in his stomach intensify tenfold.

"I am truly sorry, young Warlock, but there is nothing that you can do. Your destiny is to protect Arthur, and you are going to have to accept that, no matter what happens to Camelot." It let out something resembling a sigh. "This is a fight that you cannot win."

And just like that the world began crashing down around Merlin's ears. "Is there really nothing we can do?"

The dragon wearily turned its head away, irritated at having to repeat itself. "No, young warlock. There is nothing to be done."

Merlin felt as if he'd just been slapped in the face. "So, you're telling me to just give up?" The words came out as a choked whisper. Kilgharrah wouldn't meet his gaze.

"Your destiny is still to protect Arthur – sometimes the slate needs to be wiped clean before a new plan can be drawn upon it. A better plan."

"No." The word was laced with an anger borne from desperation, a burning anger that Merlin had never experienced on such a scale before. "I will not accept this."

There was something that the dragon wasn't revealing, something important. The druid had all but told him that the dragon knew things that would affect his future – about Merlin and about the enchantment – but for some reason that he couldn't fathom, the dragon was lying, condemning the kingdom to a slow, drawn-out death. He knew that Kilgharrah was manipulative at times, with 'destiny' ranking higher on his list of priorities than things such as 'friendship' and 'morals', but Merlin had thought that was in the past. Obviously not – Kilgharrah had been hiding things from him all along, and Merlin was foolish to have thought that he had changed.

Wise and merciful, was that not what Kilgharrah had called him? I showed him mercy, Merlin thought bitterly, but I was stupid to believe that he would reciprocate it.

The dragon had not finished. "If you had killed Morgana like I told you to, we would not be in this situation."

Of all the things Kilgharrah could have said, this was possibly the worst. Merlin snapped.

"Do not try and pin this on me," the warlock warned, his voice low and dangerous, "Don't even try."

Merlin had watched too many people that he loved die before him because of his own weakness – Will, Freya, his own father, Morgana, in her own way – he would've done anything to save any of them. He wouldn't let it happen again.

"I order you to tell me!" he roared, each word heavily weighted with magic and authority. He didn't need to order the dragon in his own tongue – Merlin had already surpassed that stage, his raging magic mixing with his dragonlord gift, creating a compulsion so strong that no dragon within a three mile radius would be able to resist.

Kilgharrah may have had no choice in the matter, but that didn't mean that he was happy about it.

"Alright, young warlock," the beast growled, its eyes glinting, "I will tell you what I know." He seemed to grow larger, if that was possible, his dark eyes cold and emotionless as they bore into the boy. Merlin stood his ground, the magic around him crackling with just as much anger as its owner.

"As I told you before, I cannot undo the enchantment – the magic is powerful and old, older than this earth, and has always been considered one of the only irreversible spells. All mortal creatures are bound by it.

To cast such a spell, a great deal of magic is needed - the amount equivalent to a small army, stripped from their users and tainted by the evil around wherever it is contained. To reverse it, a similar procedure would need to be followed, but due to the nature of the enchantment this is impossible as the magic would be blocked before it could even begin to start working."

Merlin glanced up. "But I can still do some magic, even in Camelot," he said slowly, "So I'm not completely affected by it, am I?"

Kilgharrah didn't reply. Merlin asked again, more insistently. "Why am I not bound by it?"

A low grumble emanated from the dragon's throat, and his eyes hardened. "Remember, young Warlock, you compelled me to tell you this. Do not hold me responsible for the information I give you."

Merlin shook his head impatiently, ignoring the implication of the dragon's words. "Just tell me."

"It is true that no mortal being can break the enchantment. But you, Merlin, are no ordinary mortal being – you are truly a creature of the old religion, one of the last left on this earth. Magic chose you, not the other way round – you are more magic than you are mortal, which is why Morgana's enchantment cannot completely quell your magic: your magic will always flow as long as you have breath because_ magic is what you are_."

"So, I'm not –" The dragon couldn't mean what Merlin thought he meant. He _couldn't. _"– I'm not even _human?"_

"You are a creature of the old religion, Merlin. Call yourself what you will, but your powers surpass any magic user left on this earth."

_You may not like the information that you hear._

_You'd do well to consider what side you stand on._

_Truly a creature of the old religion._

Merlin's head was reeling.

"So –" He willed himself to focus on the task at hand, trying his utmost to shelve the threatening emotional breakdown until he'd got all the information he needed, "– so, I _could _break the enchantment?"

That's why the druid agreed, he realised. The druid agreed because he knew … what I was, that if anyone could break the enchantment, it was me. Somehow, this didn't make him feel any better.

The dragon snorted with disdain. "Don't go getting any ideas Merlin – there is a reason why I withheld this information. Yes, with the power that you have there is a chance that you would be able to reverse the enchantment, but it is not guaranteed, and is not without cost. If you were foolish enough to attempt this, you would surely die, for your magic is as much a part of you as your soul is."

"Not without cost?_" _He was conscious that his voice was close to hysterical now, and he hoped that there was no one close enough to hear his breakdown. "A cost larger than condemning all my friends, everyone I know, _a whole kingdom of innocent people _to death by Morgana's hand?"

Merlin almost laughed when he imagined explaining his plan to the physician: 'Hey Gaius, there's an enchantment over Camelot that's impossible to break, but it's not impossible for me because I'm not actually human – I have magic running through my veins rather than blood, so I'm off to sacrifice my soul so that some druids we found in the wood can come and back us up against Morgana and everyone will survive. Except me, of course, but that's fine because isn't this always what happens?'

Of course Gaius would disapprove. It would probably give him a heart attack. He could hear him now, his eyebrow reaching the ceiling. _It's too dangerous, Merlin. There must be another way, Merlin. You don't know if it will actually work, Merlin._ If he was feeling particularly shocked he would probably give the boy a shake too, just for good measure.

"That is not you destiny, Merlin," the dragon intoned, "Your destiny is with Arthur, to protect him, not to protect the whole of Camelot." His gravelly voice was edged with sarcasm. "How will you protect Arthur if you are dead?"

"Stop it." Merlin rubbed a hand over his face wearily, "Just stop it."

"Merlin," Kilgharrah grumbled, "Do not try and change the inevitable. You have a duty to Arth- "

Duty? Who was he to lecture Merlin about duty and loyalty? He doubted that the dragon had ever felt such things in his life.

"Silence!" Merlin shouted, unable to take it any longer. At some point his hands had flown to the sides of his head, his fingers raking themselves through his hair as if somehow that would stop him from falling apart on the spot, and no matter how hard he tried he could not stop trembling. Anger was coursing through his veins like poison – the dangerous kind that only appears when you know that whichever way you turn, you'll reach a dead end. He flung an arm out at the creature, his eyes blazing.

"No matter what you say, I can't let my friends die when I know that I can save them. I am not like you, Kilgharrah, I _feel_ for other people, for those I love."

"Do you think that I have not felt loss? I, who am the last of my kind –"

"Leave, Kilgharrah." Merlin could feel the tears burning at his eyes, but he was adamant that he would not break down here, in front of the beast who had changed everything. He had always done what Kilgharrah had asked without question, running around after 'destiny' and sacrificing everything for Arthur, even going so far as to release the beast in order to save the Prince's life. But this was the final straw – Kilgharrah couldn't keep secrets like this from him and expect him to carry on as if nothing had happened. "Leave before someone sees you, and go back to wherever it is you hide to watch the destruction in peace!"

He spun on his heel before the creature could reply, stumbling away further into the darkness of the forest. He could feel the dragon's anger even as he fled, burning like the heat of a receding fire, and its last warning rattled in his head, settling just behind his eyes, the pain aiding his tears in turning the trees and the sky and the ground into one grey blur. He couldn't think properly, he couldn't see properly. He just ran, the booming voice following him as he hurried to get away. Whatever information he had considered, he had _never_ thought that it would be this.

"I warned you, young Warlock."

* * *

><p> <strong>AN: ****Thought I'd add in that this is what went through my head when Merlin survived the dorocha in Series 4 - no mortal could survive that, yet he did, so it ties in with the series too (even though this is pre-series 4.)**

**Please review! It really makes my day seeing those in my inbox, and helps be keep the story on track!**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: I really wanted to get to the battle as soon as possible, but I needed this pre-battle chapter too, so the battle is going to have to feature in the next chapter instead. This chapter is more for building up reactions that will become important to the plot in the immediate future. ****Emotions, that's what this is.**

**So, enjoy, and _review_ please!**

* * *

><p>Merlin stumbled blindly through the trees, not really knowing – or caring – where he was going. Somewhere in the back of his mind he realised that Arthur would probably be waking now, rousing the rest of the group so that they arrived at Camelot before dawn. He wondered idly how Arthur would react to his servant's disappearance – he probably wouldn't notice, he thought bitterly.<p>

Kilgharrah's words replayed in his head, over and over as if on a loop:

_No mortal creature._

_More magic than mortal._

_You have the power to stop this._

Emotion was bubbling in his chest, a pain that tore at his soul. Merlin felt as if his very heart had been ripped from his chest – this pain was worse than when he had lost his magic, so much worse, because this information was final and it changed _everything._

He was a monster. He'd always known that his magic had set him apart, marked him out as different, but he'd always managed to convince himself that it was simply a fluke, that it didn't make him any less a person. How wrong he was.

He wondered if Gaius knew – he recalled their first meeting, when the kindly physician had tried to convince him that he wasn't a monster. Would he have welcomed Merlin so freely into his home, tried to convince the boy so earnestly if he knew the true nature of Merlin's powers? If he knew what he truly was? Perhaps that was the whole reason why his mother had sent him away from Ealdor, because she didn't know how to deal with him. Because she couldn't cope with the knowledge on her own.

His foot snagged a tree root and suddenly he was weightless. Unceremoniously wrenched back to reality, he was met with the sting of twigs against his cheek and the smell of moisture and mould.

_If I can't do magic then what have I got? I'm just a nobody, and I always will be. If I can't use magic, I may as well die._

He gulped slowly, inhaling the scent of the earth and revelling in the feeling of the magic that flowed freely through him. He didn't feel any different, but there was no denying that he was.

How would Arthur ever accept his magic now, with Merlin what he was?

Bracing his hands on the ground, he gradually lifted himself up into a sitting position, mud mingling with the tear tracks on his face. He must look a sight. If anyone found him like this, they'd think he was some kind of –

He bit down on his fist in an effort to try and stifle the sobs that began to rack his body, finally letting out all the tension and anxiety and unfairness that had been tormenting him in one long gush of emotion. He wasn't sure how long he stayed like that for, crouched on the ground with his fist in his mouth, but eventually he had no more tears left to cry and simply sat there, hollow.

* * *

><p>By the time Merlin stumbled back to the camp, everyone was already up and once again an angry Arthur strode out to meet him. Merlin was not in the mood for one of Arthur's lectures right now.<p>

"Where have you been, _Mer_lin?" Arthur's irritated voice cut through his miserable haze like lightning, his anger grating at Merlin's head like a saw.

"I went for a walk," he said shortly.

"A walk?" Arthur was not amused. He took in a deep, slow breath, reminding himself that riding to Camelot minus one manservant would probably not reflect him in a good light.

"I needed some air."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Because, obviously, there was a complete lack of air here."

Merlin's eyes flicked to Arthur's momentarily, then back towards the floor. His response was mechanical, dead. "Sorry, Sire. It won't happen again."

Both Lancelot and Gwaine did a double take at that, and even Arthur's eyes widened.

"Well," Arthur said, taken aback slightly at Merlin's submission, "Just don't do it again." In the thinning darkness of pre-dawn, Arthur could've sworn that Merlin's eyes were watery, red – actually, come to think of it, his whole servant's demeanour was just … off. He hadn't addressed Arthur in such a way since – since he couldn't remember when.

The more he studied the boy, the more Merlin seemed to silently scream 'terrified'.

Thinking about it, Merlin had never seen a battle quite like this before, not in the way he was facing it now – he'd always been accidentally thrust into it, never been given the chance to stand around and dwell on its outcome. He wasn't a knight, had no training to cope with these kind of situations, yet he insisted on standing with the knights as equals in protecting Camelot.

He recognised it now, the demeanour of someone who'd resigned themselves to fate. Merlin obviously feared the outcome of this battle more than Arthur had realised, letting himself mull it over until it grew into something large and looming and impossible to overcome. Arthur mentally kicked himself for not noticing it sooner – over analysing the scenarios was always one of the mistakes that new knights made before going into battle, terrifying themselves until they didn't have the capacity to fight.

Pleased that he'd managed to figure out the problem, and overcome with an irrational desire to try and comfort his servant, Arthur walked cautiously towards where Merlin was fumbling half-heartedly with his saddle-strap. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Merlin?"

"Yes?" Merlin managed to phrase the word so the question, 'what do you want?' seemed to tumble out of the silence that followed, unspoken. I want you to talk to me, Arthur thought tetchily, unused to having to admit that people did, indeed, have emotions.

"Look, Merlin, if something's bothering you –"

"Nothing's bothering me."

"So you say, but you seem as if –"

"Nope."

"Look, if you need to you can always, you know, talk –"

"I am absolutely fine. See?" Merlin forced a smile – it came slowly and for some reason it still looked awkward on his face even though usually it fit there so well. "Happy now?"

"_Mer_lin." Arthur chided gently, "Shut up and stop skirting around the subject."

"Since when have you cared?" Merlin muttered. Arthur felt a twinge of guilt at this – it was true that recently he hadn't given his servant any reason to think otherwise, but for some reason hearing Merlin say it out loud made it seem much worse.

He leaned in closer, his eyes filled with uncharacteristic softness, and despite his mood Merlin didn't have the heart to discourage this rare display of emotion. "Merlin, you look like someone's died. Of course I care." Arthur continued, encouraged by Merlin's attentiveness. "If it's about the battle, then I just want you to know that tomorrow, whatever happens, I will not let you die."

He hadn't expected the look of pure panic that momentarily flashed across his servant's eyes.

_He can't know. There's no way that he could possibly know._

"What are you talking about?" Merlin's brow was furrowed almost comically, as if he genuinely couldn't comprehend what had prompted this subject.

"The battle? Later today? The one Morgana's bringing sorcerers to?" At the mention of Morgana the confusion fled from the boy's eyes, replaced by something that could only be described as resignation. Arthur couldn't help thinking it that was worse than the panic and the confusion, somehow. He sighed. "Honestly Merlin, you're acting so suspiciously is it any wonder that I'm concerned about you?"

Merlin could hardly even muster a smile at that.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Arthur gestured to the boy's face, streaked with mud. "You've got something …"

Merlin hurriedly dragged a dirty sleeve over his face. "I'm _fine_." Finding Arthur still looking at him strangely, he quickly added, "I fell down. On my face."

Arthur's raised an eyebrow. "On your _face_?"

"Yeah. Forgot to use my hands."

Merlin fell silent, very deliberately, signalling that their conversation was over. Arthur bit back a sarcastic retort, letting the boy stew in silence – after all, it was hard justifying time spent poking at a sullen manservant in favour of spending that time same protecting his kingdom.

"Forgot to use my hands?" Arthur shook his head in disbelief, resolving to settle the matter when they arrived in Camelot rather than try and push Merlin here. "And he wonders why I call him an idiot?"

* * *

><p>"Did you fall into a river too, or is that just the light?" At the touch of another hand on his shoulder, Merlin nearly growled – why was it that the one time that he needed to be alone with his thoughts, everyone decided to grow a conscience?<p>

"I don't know what you're talking about." Merlin tried to sound nonchalant, but even to his ears he failed miserably. He was surprised to find that it was Gwaine this time and not Lancelot, the dark-haired man looking at him with eyes full of thinly veiled concern.

"Your eyes. They're red." Gwaine said it as casually as if he was simply talking about the weather, but Merlin felt each statement like a blow to the stomach. "Have you been crying?"

"Look, I'm fine, okay?" Merlin said irritably, wrenching away with the air of someone who was _most definitely not fine _but did not want to talk about it.

"Whoa, mate, that's fine with me." Gwaine put his hands in the air, backing off slightly. He was eyeing the boy with an unreadable expression. "I'll just leave you to it then, shall I?"

Merlin could feel how confused and slightly hurt Gwaine was, but right now he couldn't bring himself to care. He just felt empty, and didn't seem to have the capacity to process anything other than breaking the enchantment and enabling Arthur to reach his destiny. Despite telling him that he was capable of breaking the enchantment, the dragon hadn't provided much in the way of how to go about it. Which, strictly speaking, meant that he was still no more enlightened than he was before.

_Except that now I know that I'm a monster, and doing this will probably kill me._

With a head full of happy thoughts, he mounted his horse and studiously ignored the concerned looks that were being shot at him by Gwaine, choosing instead to ride to his place at Arthur's side.

"Your father will be happy to see you," he offered with feigned enthusiasm. It seemed that Arthur was just as preoccupied as Merlin was, the words visibly jolting him out of his reverie. The smile he gave Merlin was strained and disbelieving.

"I've come to the conclusion that he, at least, can't have us executed for leaving to recruit the druids," Arthur said grimly. "But that doesn't rule out exile."

"I always wanted a holiday," Merlin remarked, shrugging. Arthur shot him a grateful glance.

"That's if Camelot is still standing tomorrow!" Gwaine called from behind them. The mood frosted instantly, Arthur's eyes darkening and the constricting pain returning to Merlin's chest.

When Arthur next spoke, it was with the voice of the Prince that he was, resounding with authority. He turned to Gwaine, his jaw set. "We ride as fast as we can until dawn."

* * *

><p>Camelot was so deserted, it was unnatural – the odd body littered the street, sprawled on the flagstones, and Merlin found himself holding his breath as they passed each one, only releasing it when he confirmed that it wasn't Percival or Elyan or Leon or Gwen. The closer to the castle they got, the more vivid the red of the ground was.<p>

Arthur went straight to the Council Chambers as soon as they dismounted, drawing himself up to full height in preparation for his father's rage. Watching him leave, Merlin felt sorry for him - he only did what felt that he had to, what was right for the kingdom. Uther would do well to remember that.

What Merlin really needed to do was to look through the historical records – the enchantment and its place in history was bound to be recorded somewhere down there, and it would undoubtedly hold some key as to how the enchantment was broken last time. Unfortunately, he doubted that the room would be open for browsing given the current circumstances, and even if he did manage to get in, he wouldn't know where to start.

There was only one person that he could think of that may know some of the answers that he needed.

"Merlin, you're back!" Gwen threw her arms around him, the bowl that she was carrying connecting rather painfully with his back. After squirming a bit, she let him go, smiling fondly at him. "Gaius said that Arthur had gone to go and get reinforcements, but we weren't sure that you'd make it back in time." She looked tired, so much more so than when he'd last seen her, and he got the feeling that Camelot had sustained far more losses in the day that they'd been absent.

"Do you know where Gaius is?"

She pursed her lips. "He's in chambers, gathering his supplies so that everything he needs is in the hall with him during the battle. I told him that I could get them, but he insisted." She had barely finished her sentence before Merlin was hurtling down the corridor, a call of "thanks!" echoing behind him. Approaching the physician's chambers, he threw open the door, not bothering with the usual greetings.

"Merlin?" Gaius looked up in surprise, almost dropping the large selection of vials in his arms. "What are you doing here?"

Merlin got straight to the point. "Gaius, what do you know about an enchantment that blocks all magic – one of the unbreakable spells?"

Gaius looked at him disapprovingly. "It's nice to see you too. I assume that you did manage to recruit the druids, then?"

"Yes – yes, we did." Merlin sighed in exasperation. "But that's not important – I need to know everything that you can remember about an unbreakable enchantment that renders magic useless."

The physician sighed. "Well, there is a legend –" He broke off, the implications of Merlin's question prompting an unwelcome realisation. "You can't think that this is the enchantment that is on Camelot at the moment?"

Merlin thought of all that the dragon had told him. There was nothing that he had been so sure of. "I know it is, Gaius."

The man looked at him, his eyes wide. "But if that is so, then the alliance that the druids offer will be of no help at all!"

Merlin shifted uncomfortably. "I'm working on that."

Gaius seemed to be having problems comprehending this concept. "It is _unbreakable, _Merlin, we –"

"We don't have any time, Gaius!" The urgency in Merlin's voice made the man purse his lips, but, tutting slightly, he gave the boy the information he needed.

"There is a legend that tells of a time when one of the first priestesses of the old religion cast such a spell over the kingdom, for the kingdom had wronged her and she wanted to make them see how much of an ally magic truly was. The kingdom was ravaged, their forces torn apart, and they desperately searched for a way to break the spell.

In the end, they found a creature of the old religion – a creature that was distant kin of the dragons, I think, with the head of an eagle – and sacrificed its magic. It required a 'discharge' of sorts, a charge of pure magic to null the effects of the evil that the enchantment was feeding off. It is said that they had to perform the rituals – exactly how, I don't know, for they had no magic – in the courtyard, for that was where the evil of the kingdom was concentrated. The creature was stripped of its power – for a pure, magical entity such as that, it was a fate worse than death, and it is said that it dragged itself into the castle to die at the King's feet. He died himself shortly after."

Merlin's insides were churning, and for a moment he thought he was going to retch, but he forced it back down. The image of the majestic creature, suddenly finding itself without magic – well, he could imagine how that felt, except that it would be over a hundred times worse.

Gaius sighed.

"But Merlin, there are no such creatures left in this world. There is nothing that has enough power to enable such a feat – I don't know what you were planning to do, but there if this enchantment truly is on Camelot then there is nothing to be done."

Obviously Gaius had no idea of Merlin's true nature either. Merlin felt the ache in his chest intensify slightly, but he pushed it away to deal with later.

"No, no there isn't," Merlin mumbled, his eyes someplace else, his mind already far away. The physician knew that look. He studied the boy's face for a moment, his voice tinged with worry. "Merlin, what are you planning?"

Merlin grinned, a smile tinged with sadness. "I'm going to save Camelot, of course." Surprising the physician, he reached his arms around the man, pressing his head into his shoulder. "Thank you, Gaius." It was all he could trust himself to say without breaking.

Maybe Gaius understood then, at least partly, because Merlin felt him tense, the arms around him tightening their grip slightly.

"Merlin, surely you can't be serious?" The words were heavy with a dawning realisation, and Merlin resisted the urge to bury his head deeper into the man's shoulder, something that he hadn't done since he was young. What could he say? Gaius had heard all of his excuses – none of them would make it any easier.

"It won't work, Merlin. You need a creature of the old religion, not a warlock. That much power..."

His voice trailed off. If only you knew, Merlin thought sadly.

"There's nothing I can say to stop you, is there?" Gaius' voice wasn't threatening or angry, just matter-of-fact, his physician's training coming into play.

Merlin paused for a moment, as if considering it. "No. No, there's not."

Gaius certainly had much more to say on the subject but he was cut off by an embarrassed cough from behind them. They broke apart, Merlin blinking rapidly. Gwen stood in the doorway, her hands fidgeting with the material of her skirt. "Arthur was asking where you were, Merlin. He says that he's got something for you."

"The last time he said that, I ended up with a dead arm and a roomful of armour to clean," Merlin muttered ruefully, and for a brief moment Gwen managed a small smile – a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

"No, I think it's something good this time." Her eyes clouded over again. "A gift, you know, before the battle."

Arthur was giving out gifts now? The pressure must have got to him – either that, or he believed that they didn't stand a chance and would rather distribute his worldly goods whilst he was still standing. Either way, Merlin wasn't going to let Arthur's charitable mood go to waste. "Well, if it's a _gift_ then I suppose I can't turn it down."

"Merlin," Gaius said sharply, catching hold of his arm before he managed to scurry out of the door, "Be careful."

Merlin shrugged. "I'm always careful," he quipped, giving the man's arm a reassuring squeeze before darting away. "After all," he murmured to himself as he went through the door, "it's not dying that I'm worried about."


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: I'm sorry it's been so long! I've been so ridiculously busy with life, and I had to rewrite this chapter so many times because it's such an important one, so ... I apologise. But I really hope you like it.**

**Please review! I like to know how you're finding it :D**

**But (finally) here it is! Enjoy~**

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><p>"Arthur?"<p>

Arthur stood by the window, watching his army as it swayed in the dawn light. They were going about this the wrong way, he knew that. Morgana always liked to make an impact – she wasn't going to waltz in the same way that she had been, yet they were acting like she would. Even the druids couldn't help them if Camelot was defeated before they even arrived.

"The talk with your father didn't go well, then?"

Arthur dragged his gaze away from the window. "According to my father, he would sooner put his trust in Bayard than the druids. He's adamant that they'd burn Camelot to the ground if they had the chance." He ran a hand across his face. "Magic is wrong, Merlin, I know that. Have I made the wrong decision?"

"No." Merlin answered without hesitation. "No, Arthur, you've done what you think is right. Your father is blind to what lies before him – if Morgana has sorcerers, only magic can protect Camelot." He paused. "And magic isn't wrong, Arthur, at least, I don't think so." He trailed off awkwardly. "I guess it's like a sword, in a way. Swords aren't banned because some men fight without honour, are they?"

He could feel Arthur studying him, trying to decipher the reasoning behind the words. He tried his best to keep a straight face. After a few moments, Arthur seemed to reach a conclusion. "Sometimes, Merlin, I do wonder about you."

Merlin shrugged, letting out the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. "That's what Gaius says. I can't imagine why." Arthur snorted, the tension in his shoulders lessening slightly. "Gwen said you were giving out presents?"

"Ah, yes." Arthur cleared his throat awkwardly. "I've been thinking –"

"Did it hurt?" Arthur glared, and Merlin smothered a smile.

"– and I noticed that you were missing something. Other than your brain." He stepped towards the table, unwrapping the folds of cloth to reveal a sword that glinted in the early morning light. "As a servant to the Prince, you really ought to have your own sword. Even if you don't know how to use it."

Merlin stared at the table in surprise. "Arthur, I can't, this is –"

"It was mine, before this one." He motioned to the sword that lay in his own scabbard. "It may be old, but there's still life in it." He picked up the weapon, offering Merlin the hilt. "I want you to have it, Merlin. If you're going into battle with me, I'm not going to let you go in unprotected."

Slowly, Merlin extended his arm to take the sword. He turned it over as he had seen Arthur do before, the metal heavy in his hands. Words escaped him. "It's beautiful," he breathed.

Arthur watched the boy study the sword, the ghost of a smile on his face. "Of course it is," he said fondly. He paused. "Whatever happens today, I'm glad to have you by my side."

Merlin swallowed thickly, smiling weakly. "And I you."

* * *

><p>"Sire!"<p>

Bells. The warning bells were ringing, fast and urgent. Sir Leon practically fell through the door, his tunic stained with the rust of blood. "Sire, they're in the castle."

"What?" Arthur's hand went straight to his sword. "What do you mean?"

"Morgana's army. They're here – not just outside the castle, but inside too. Her forces are inside the walls."

Merlin stiffened – this was not what they had planned for. "What of the sorcerers?" Arthur barked.

"They haven't been used, not directly. I had to fight my way here – her forces have already spread throughout the castle, and more are trying to enter through the main gate. It seems likely that sorcerers have been used to somehow to transport the men inside the walls, but, as far as I can tell, magic hasn't been used against us. Her men fall just as ours do."

That knowledge provided little comfort.

"We'll have to hold them off until the druids arrive," Arthur said, drawing his sword. "Is the corridor clear? Where are the others? My father?"

If Leon was surprised at the druids, he didn't show it, rattling off the answers that Arthur demanded just as fast as they were asked. "Lancelot and Percival cleared it for me, but reinforcements were arriving almost as fast as we cut them down. There are men securing the lower town, but Morgana's forces are larger in number and I fear that we won't hold out for much longer. More have been sent by your father."

"Where's Gwaine?" Merlin asked, the sword feeling awkward in his hands as they burst through the doors and into the melee, the clash of steel filling his ears.

"He was with Elyan," Leon shouted, gesturing back down the corridor, "But Elyan lost track of him after they were rushed by a group of Morgana's soldiers."

That was all the excuse that he needed. "Sounds like he could do with some company," Merlin grinned, breaking away from the group and hurtling back the way they came.

"Merlin!" Arthur called after him, irritation masking his concern. "You idiot, what do you think you're doing?" He heard Arthur shout something else, and Leon try to reason with him, but Merlin didn't look back.

He and Arthur had said their goodbyes. From now on Merlin had to do this alone.

* * *

><p>He hurtled down the corridor, a single goal in mind. The sword in his hand reacted instinctively, slicing at any man that blocked his path, and Merlin got the feeling that it was more to do with his magic than his proficiency at swordplay.<p>

He needed to get to the place where the evil of Camelot was concentrated – he'd thought it through, and his mind had settled on the throne room. He'd felt it sometimes when he'd stood beside Gaius, watching as Uther condemned another innocent person to death, the soul of every person ever silenced hanging in the room like a choking fog. It had to be there.

"Ever thought of working out more?" There was no mistaking Gwaine's voice.

Rounding the corner, he was just in time to see the smile freeze on the man's face as steel slashed across Gwaine's side. Merlin's heart clenched for a moment as the man doubled over, his sword arm still parrying the blows that rained down. Merlin didn't think, he just ran – adrenaline replaced the fatigue that using his magic brought, the sword in his hand slicing down one man after another.

Arthur would've been proud.

"Good to see you mate," Gwaine said breathlessly. Merlin could see blood through his tunic, an ugly flower of rust bleeding through the fabric and staining the hand that Gwaine had put there. Stumbling slightly, Merlin caught hold of the man's arm and hauled him into an alcove, out of sight of the corridor. Gwaine fell against the wall, breathing heavily.

"You know, I never thought I'd go like this. I always thought it'd be alone, lying in the gutter after a knife to the gut over the last pint of ale or something." Gwaine grinned weakly. "I like this better."

"You're not going to die, Gwaine." Merlin ripped the hem of his shirt, reaching around the man to try and staunch the bleeding. Although the wound wasn't particularly deep, it was long, and there was no doubt that Gwaine needed to get to Gaius as soon as possible. "Though that's definitely going to scar."

Gwaine smirked, closing his eyes. "Just another to show the ladies." There was a pause. "Thank you Merlin, for saving me from that."

Merlin glanced up, confused. "From what?"

Smiling, the man offered him his hand. "From being alone."

* * *

><p>The call rose up through the crackling flames, the command barely perceptible over the roar of the steel and the men and the fire. "The lower town is lost – retreat to the citadel!"<p>

Morgana walked amongst turmoil, unfazed by the chaos around her. She raised her hand, smiling darkly as the flames sprung higher, watching in satisfaction as every piece of wood capable of igniting burst into sparks.

"Let them run," she smirked. "It will make no difference."

Her eyes sought out the one she wanted to punish the most, smiling with satisfaction as she found him watching her, stationary among the rush of retreating men. Uther watched her uncertainly, acting just as he did when they had another of their arguments, treading lightly as if she were glass. "Why are you doing this, Morgana?" He shrugged off the knight trying to get him to safety, stubbornly refusing to move. "I loved you like a daughter."

The hate in her eyes made him flinch.

"I _was_ your daughter," she spat. She drew herself to her full height, the flames reflected in her eyes mirroring the fury in her heart. "You have killed so many of my kind, Uther Pendragon, wronged so many people. You are blinded by your own hatred, even to me."

With a flick of her wrist the flames danced closer to the man that had raised her as a child, the man that she had once thought the world of. In that single motion, Morgana felled the wall that Uther had built around his mind, closing himself off from reality – he stepped backwards, finally seeing Morgana for what she really was. What he had made her. He shook his head in disbelief, something akin to fear igniting in his chest. "What are you?"

Morgana laughed, a chilling sound. "I am you, Uther, or so people tell me. You have no idea what I am capable of, what my kind are capable of." The flames burned bigger, brighter, and Uther was forced backwards even further, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the blaze. This monster wasn't Morgana – the child he knew was long gone. "Run, Uther Pendragon. Go with the rest of your men to protect the kingdom that you hold so dear. Do it whilst you still can, because when I am finished you will have _nothing_ left to fight for."

* * *

><p>"Hey, Merlin." Wearily, Merlin raised his head. The little magic he'd managed to use had left his energy supply dangerously low. Gwaine stared past him, his eyes transfixed on something just out of Merlin's range of vision. "She's cracked out the sorcerers."<p>

The world was burning. Merlin watched in horrified fascination as fire licked at the ground, smoke billowing upwards. The stench of charred wood accompanied it, floating up his nose and choking his throat. He'd never seen destruction on this scale before – he doubted that Camelot had ever experienced destruction on this scale before. Even from Kilgharrah.

_What has she done?_

Morgana's silhouette stood in the blaze, completely at home in the devastation. Her eyes found his, drunk on revenge, and Merlin shivered. Even from here there was no mistaking it – there was madness in those depths. He looked away, suddenly cold.

"I've got to go," he muttered, the sense of urgency returning. He couldn't afford to wait any longer – Morgana had ensured that. "I've got to go."

Merlin darted forwards, only for one of his legs to buckle beneath him, sending him sprawling to the floor. He growled in annoyance.

"I didn't realise you were injured," Gwaine said, with a hint of concern. As the man moved towards him, Merlin was already scrambling to his feet. "I wasn't," he snapped, sharper than he intended.

Immediately, he regretted it – he didn't miss how Gwaine eyed him warily, like an injured animal. He sighed. This wasn't how he wanted it to be.

"I'm sorry." The words sounded so serious, so heartfelt, that Gwaine got the feeling that Merlin was apologising for more than his reaction alone.

Keeping his thoughts to himself, he clapped the boy on the back. "Don't worry. Not everyone can be as amazing as me. I understand."

Gwaine saw through the boy's smile, and Merlin knew that.

He ran.

* * *

><p>"By the looks of it, we've secured this wing of the castle –" Arthur stopped, his face breaking into a smile of pure relief at the approaching sight of his servant in one piece. "Merlin –!"<p>

Merlin pushed past him, a blank look in his eyes. That wasn't right. "What do you think you're doing?" Arthur asked irritably, catching hold of the boy's arm. "This is a battlefield, Merlin, not a tour of the castle. You can't just wander off."

"I'm sorry, Arthur," Merlin muttered, wrenching himself free. He stumbled down the corridor before Arthur could try and stop him. The Prince hovered uncertainly, torn between his duty to his kingdom and his duty to his friend.

Gwaine arrived a moment later, grimacing slightly.

"There's something wrong with him."

"What?" That got Arthur's attention. "What do you mean?"

"You know Merlin, always trying to do what's right." Gwaine's tone was light, but the look in his eyes was far from it. "Only this time I think it's going to cost him more than a couple of hours of hard labour. I think Merlin's got himself in far too deep."

"Come on Gwaine," Arthur scoffed, trying to push down the fear rising in his guy, "What are you trying to say?"

"Are you blind?" The words were like a slap in the face. "This has been building up for days. I've seen a lot of things, and I know the look that's been haunting him." Gwaine stared at him seriously, a challenge in his eyes. "I don't know about you, mate, but I am not going to lose my only friend without trying to stop it."

* * *

><p>The evil in the room was suffocating. Swaying slightly, Merlin stood in the exact place he'd watched so many people beg Uther's forgiveness, the bodies of fallen soldiers litered around him. He wasn't quite sure how they'd got there – all he could remember was a frustration and a burning desire to do what he needed to, alone. It scared him, what his broken magic was capable of.<p>

He wasn't built for war.

"I hate this," he murmured, dropping his sword. The room was oddly silent, the thick wood of the doors muffling the roar of the battle outside. The silence made his skin crawl. He rubbed hand over his face. "I hate this."

He hated this war, he hated hiding who he was, he hated having to conform to some destiny that didn't care who it brushed aside in the process.

Destiny. How he hated that word.

It wasn't that he was scared of dying – that was the least of his worries. No, what scared him most was surviving. Surviving without any magic at all.

_For a creature of the old religion, that was a fate worse than death._

He took in a deep breath, steadying himself.

It was worth it, if it was for Arthur, and for the kingdom he was going to build. Merlin knew it was true. He knew deep down that if he was ever given this choice again, he would take it without hesitation - his life in exchange for a kingdom's worth. He believed in Arthur – not just Arthur the ruler, but Arthur the man. He wouldn't change this for the world.

He shut his eyes. Dwelling on the task at hand would get him nowhere.

Shuddering slightly, Merlin reached for the magic that he knew was there, pouring every single ounce of energy into breaking through the barrier and drawing his magic out the other side. He could physically feel the resistance, a dull throbbing that grew sharper and more intense the more he tried.

_"Ic __āc__ ælwiht se eald __ǣfæstnes__āsellan __scinncræft_." The words fell from his tongue, the magic weighting them more powerful than anything Merlin had ever felt before. "_Ic i ábregdan þæt galdor __āhebban_."

The words were tumbling out of his mouth now, a long incantation that he'd never heard but somehow seemed imprinted on the backs of his eyelids. He gasped as a shudder of pain shot down his back, his spine arching as he tried to stifle a cry. He could feel it, as every ounce of magic he had ever possessed was drawn out of his soul to swirl within his chest, a prison too small to hold it all. It filled him, and even though it surged like the tide against his ribcage, Merlin marvelled at the feeling.

He hadn't realised how much power he actually had. It was beautiful, and he would miss it.

As the last tendrils of magic began to detach themselves from his being, he wondered idly whether he'd be able to open his eyes. He was so tired, he wasn't sure he could. Maybe he'd just stay like this until someone found him, a hollow vessel filled with raging magic.

May be Arthur would find him.

He quashed the thought instantly. Arthur could never know, especially not like this. Not whilst they were in a war like this, with Merlin unable to defend himself, to put up a convincing argument. He'd gone through the scenario in his head a thousand times, yet when it came down to it he knew that they wouldn't be able to stick to the script. Arthur was too volatile for that.

Distantly, he thought he heard the sound of a door being flung open

That could be problematic.

"Magic?"

Caught off-guard, Merlin's eyes snapped open in shock.

Arthur stood in the doorway, Gwaine behind him. Merlin watched in horror as Arthur's expression went from shocked to betrayed to absolutely livid all in the space of a second, the man visibly flailing as he tried to comprehend what he was seeing.

Merlin's eyes were _golden_.

Arthur took a step backwards, raising his sword. "You have magic." It wasn't a question.

Merlin paused momentarily, the last words of the incantation halting on the tip of his tongue as he clung on to his being for a little bit longer, desperate not to leave it like this.

Arthur growled. "I trusted you. You have_ magic._"

The edges of Merlin's vision were dimming. What did Arthur want him to say? I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Arthur, I'm sorry that I saved your life so many times, I'm sorry that I had to live knowing that any day I could be discovered and burnt at the stake while you watched. I'm sorry that, right now, I'm sacrificing my magic, the only good thing in my life, to save Camelot.

As it was, Merlin couldn't say anything. Energy didn't allow him to.

A stabbing pain flared in his chest, and Merlin knew he couldn't postpone it any longer. He felt a flash of irritation at Arthur, at his reaction, at how he'd never lowered his sword. If Arthur knew what Merlin had done for him – was doing for him – may be then he would realise that he wasn't the only one who felt betrayed.

His gaze never left Arthur's.

" – _ic líesing."_

The boy's eyes flashed a brilliant gold and for a moment there was silence.

Then everything exploded outwards.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Hey :D Over 100 reviews for this story! Words can't explain how happy I am right now. And over 20 for the last chapter - I love you all, readers and reviewers!**

**So, I'll probably be updating at this speed from now on, as things are getting a bit hectic in my life. But - on another note - the filming for Merlin series 5 has started! So excited!**

**Enjoy, and please review!~**

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><p>An invisible shockwave of the purest magic shot across the earth in all directions, Camelot at its heart.<p>

Animals stopped, rooted to the spot, as it flowed over them. People who weren't even aware of their magical ability felt it, a heart-wrenching despair that pulled at the corners of their consciousness. They found themselves running towards their houses, towards warmth and safety, without knowing why. For a moment, every detail was heightened, every sound intensified. Emrys had released his power back to the earth. So much power, the earth didn't know what to do with it.

Somewhere, the dragon roared, the magic burning his scales. Destiny was flickering and changing before his eyes, a blur of magic and death and gold, never quite settling long enough for him to make sense of it. He was afraid of what it might mean.

The druids felt it too. They felt the wave as if it were a physical blast, grasping each other for support until the magic dissipated. The seer clutched at his head, so many possible futures being created and erased simultaneously that he had to retire to his chambers. Their leader looked to the sky, the knowledge of what had occurred weighing heavily on his heart. "We depart for Camelot." He turned to the group gathered behind him, silently placing both his faith and the future of Albion at Prince Arthur's feet. "Emrys has upheld his part of the bargain. Let us hope that Arthur upholds his."

Even Camelot felt it. Morgana's fires, burning so brightly, flickered as the wave approached. Moments later they extinguished completely.

A cry of disbelief ripped itself from Morgana's throat. "No!" But she did not understand its significance.

She raised her hand again, murder in her eyes. "_Bærne, __sēcan_." The flames came back into existence, more intense, and she flung them at the castle walls, the stone itself burning with an impossible glow. She allowed herself a small smirk of satisfaction as the men fled back from the walls, retreating further into the castle, Uther watching her all the while.

She was growing tired of this game. It was time to seek out those who needed to die.

* * *

><p>Merlin's legs buckled as the ceiling began to crumble.<p>

"Merlin!" Gwaine's reflexes weren't fast enough, the boy crumpling to the ground before he could even get close. He didn't get up.

Gwaine scrambled through the rubble, and Arthur, after a moment of hesitation, followed. The tremors had weakened the stonework, the castle not built to withstand such movements, and Arthur was worried that if they didn't move quickly the whole ceiling would come down on top of them. He wouldn't be able to dig Gwaine out if the roof collapsed on top of them both.

Merlin lay there, unresponsive and shuddering.

"Merlin," Gwaine breathed, roughly shaking the boy. More rubble fell from above, and Gwaine hunched over Merlin instinctively, offering what protection he could. "Come on, mate." Merlin lolled limply in his arms, the eyes that were burning moments before now hidden behind closed lids. Gwaine's stomach clenched at the sight.

He cursed silently.

Wrapping an arm around him, Gwaine pulled Merlin into a more upright position. Arthur's breath caught in his throat as he caught sight of how the boy twitched in Gwaine's arms, pain written all over his face. This wasn't how a sorcerer should look.

"Is he –?" He couldn't formulate the words.

"He needs Gaius."

Arthur hesitated, Merlin's secret creating a barrier between the two of them that seemed too high to cross – that he had been expressly forbidden to cross.

"What are you waiting for?" There was an edge to Gwaine's voice that made Arthur uneasy, defensive.

"He's a sorcerer, Gwaine." But, somehow, the word didn't seem to match the figure that lay before them.

"Evil to the core, I suppose?" Gwaine laughed darkly. "Yes, that's definitely Merlin."

No, that wasn't it. The accusation in the knight's voice was something that Arthur couldn't stand. "He betrayed us, Gwaine!" Arthur shouted, the hurt and confusion raw in his voice. "I trusted him!"

There was an anger smouldering in Gwaine's eyes, and not at Merlin. It irritated Arthur even more. "Every man has his secrets. You wouldn't condemn them to death for that."

Somehow Arthur doubted that anyone could have a secret quite on the same scale. "Magic is punishable by death," he snapped. He felt backed into a corner – once again, his world had been turned on its head and shaken for good measure. Morgana's betrayal had ripped a hole in his chest, but Merlin's had reopened the old scar and made it larger, deeper. He wasn't sure if it would ever heal.

"You would leave him here?"

The disgust in Gwaine's voice made him cringe inside. No. Of course he wouldn't. He could never leave Merlin here, not like this, regardless of what he'd done. "My father will have him killed."

Gwaine fixed him with a hard look. "Your father. Not you."

_I'm happy to be your servant, till the day I die._

Why was it that Merlin had to ruin everything?

Arthur growled, grabbing the boy by the torso and swinging him onto his back. "Look, Merlin, I don't know what you did there, but you owe me one big explanation." Studiously ignoring Gwaine, he drew his sword, making his way towards the door. He could think about the implications of his actions later.

He tried to ignore how cold the boy felt against his shoulder.

* * *

><p>When the officials around him suddenly flew backwards as if pushed by an invisible hand, Uther didn't need to look up from his plans to know who it was. "You dare come in here, Morgana,<em>"<em> he growled, his hand reaching for his sword. "Hiding behind your magic."

One casually murmured enchantment, and he found himself frozen where he stood.

Morgana smiled sweetly. "Now father," she began reproachfully, "Is that any way to greet your daughter?"

The council chambers were small enough – she crossed the space between them in a matter of seconds, circling the frozen man as a crow would its prey. She had all the time in the world – no one would follow her here. She'd made sure of that.

"How do you like the flames?" Uther could do nothing, not even blink, and she chuckled softly. "You've never been on the receiving end before, have you?"

She extended her hand to him. "_Bærne_." A ball of flame ignited in her palm, beautiful and dangerous. Not unlike Morgana. "I was always scared of fire, you know. I could never figure out why."

Her eyes flashed gold, and the ball grew brighter, the heat uncomfortably hot on Uther's skin. "You deserve to die, Uther Pendragon," she murmured, eyes transfixed on the flames. Suddenly she could remember everything – childhood fears, chilling nightmares, all the confusion. Every single night spent without a father. Every single person she watched burn. "You deserve all of this, and more."

* * *

><p>"Roasting us like pigs?" Gwaine muttered as they stumbled down the corridor, "With all that magic, is it too much to ask for her to be a bit more imaginative?"<p>

Arthur mentally flinched as that word came back again. Magic. Merlin's magic. For all he knew, all this destruction could be Merlin's. He didn't realise that he'd said it aloud until he caught Gwaine staring at him in disbelief, eyes narrowed.

"Merlin? Are you sure we're talking about the same person?" The words dripped with sarcasm and Arthur momentarily lost the hold he had on his anger, the pain in his chest flaring.

"I don't know, are we?" he shot back furiously. "Because the Merlin I'm talking about is a sorcerer who's been living a lie every single day he's been in Camelot."

_The Merlin I'm talking about is someone that I never knew._

Gwaine fixed him with a hard look. "Maybe you should wait for him to give us an explanation himself instead of jumping to conclusions."

Arthur doubted that Merlin could find something to say that would change anything significant.

They walked in an angry silence heavy with things unsaid, cutting down anyone in their way with wordless coordination. Arthur let his anger take over, spilling into his movements. Betrayal was in there too, and uncertainty, somewhere.

_That's surprising. I didn't realise you were capable of emotions, Arthur._

Arthur angrily shook his head, trying to rid himself of Merlin's echo. The boy draped over his shoulder wasn't the same one that he'd met all those years ago. Looking back, he tried to separate the truth from the lies, but he found that he couldn't. In reality, he didn't know Merlin at all.

Had Gwaine known all along?

Arthur immediately dismissed the thought as Gwaine threw himself at a door particularly violently, hacking at it when it wouldn't open and growling something that sounded suspiciously like 'stupid magic'. It didn't take a genius to work out that Gwaine was fuming. Merlin had kept his little secret from them all.

What hurt most wasn't that Merlin had magic – that came close second – but that Merlin hadn't trusted him. Because Arthur had trusted Merlin. He'd never said it, not out loud, but Arthur had trusted Merlin with his life.

He hadn't realised just how much power over his life Merlin had.

"Behind you!"

Acting on reflexes alone, Arthur swung around, sword in hand, but had forgotten to make allowances for the extra weight he was carrying. He pitched forwards, the extra weight propelling him towards the ground and groaned as he felt Merlin roll off his shoulder. The boy's head connected painfully with stone as he came to a stop a few metres away.

Merlin didn't move.

Arthur froze, halfway between getting up and staying down. "Merlin?" He scrambled towards the boy, in that split second forgetting the barrier that lay between them. For a moment, all he saw was Merlin, his idiotic manservant, defenceless. "For goodness sake – Merlin!"

"A little bit of help here, Arthur?" Gwaine called, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder. Arthur paused, everything coming flooding back as the clash of steel on steel reached his ears. Trying to silence the guilt that gnawed at his heart – guilt that had no place, given what Merlin had done – he left the boy and threw himself at the attackers at Gwaine's side, slicing through chainmail and flesh. Camelot came first, feelings second. As the blood flowed Merlin was all but forgotten.

It was only a rumbling from above that brought them back to reality, and only Arthur's reflexes that saved them. "Move!" The Prince cannoned into Gwaine, sending them both sprawling to the floor.

Seconds later a burning avalanche of stone and plaster fell from the ceiling, crushing the rest of their attackers and blocking the corridor.

Blocking their path back to Merlin.

"Merlin!" Gwaine roared, on his feet in an instant. He tried desperately to push through the flames, and Arthur followed, concern overriding rational thought. The smoke burned at his eyes, his throat, and in the end he had to acknowledge that this was a wasted effort. He pulled back, his eyes streaming.

"There's no way that we can get through that."

Gwaine was more persistent. In the end Arthur had to drag him back, literally throwing him against the wall before he got himself killed.

"Merlin is back there!" Gwaine growled, "We can't just leave him!" He pulled angrily out of Arthur's grip, and for a moment Arthur thought he was going to try and launch himself back into the flames. Instead, he seemed to regain control of himself, slamming his fist against the wall. "_Merlin is back there_."

There was a hopelessness in his voice that Arthur felt reflected somewhere in the depths of his chest. He took a step back, the hand around his sword gripping so tightly that it shook. This was not meant to happen.

He had been a fool to think that the druids would come to his aid. To place his trust in magic. They'd managed to fight their way through the wing of the castle, but for what? The direct route to the hall was now blocked, and an unconscious Merlin stuck on the other side of a burning wall.

He needed to talk with his father, discuss tactics. He needed to know what his plan was. Arthur had let his emotions get in the way of his duty. He needed to start thinking like the Prince he was. This was a war, more lives at stake than his and Merlin's. If he didn't take responsibility, Morgana's magic would burn everything to the ground.

He wondered wearily whether everything that his father had been telling him was right after all.

* * *

><p>Merlin was burning. He could feel the heat all around him, smoke cruelly clogging his already weak airways.<p>

Weakly, he tried to move his arms, but his body wouldn't respond. He couldn't even open his eyes. All that he knew was the fire, and the numbness, and the blinding pain in his chest where his magic should be. He was fast losing his grip on the sliver of reality that he had managed to catch hold of. Where was Arthur?

Pain mixed with a fear that ate away at reality, until he couldn't distinguish one from the other. He wondered whether Arthur was burning him for his crimes.

So Arthur will not forgive me, he thought distantly, trying to form coherent thoughts through the pain and the emptiness and the blaze. After everything, Arthur will not forgive me.

_We are coming Emrys._

The sound of the druid echoed in his mind, but by that time Merlin had already plunged back under. With his magic gone, there was nothing he could do.

* * *

><p>She would let the fire consume him. It was only fitting.<p>

"_Cume her fyrbryne."_

She started it small, licking at the man's feet. "Don't worry," she whispered, leaning in close, "I'll take care of Arthur for you."

Uther lifted his head in what could have been a defiant gesture, had he not looked so broken. Just as she wanted. She held his gaze as his own settled on something over her shoulder, just as a chill spread through a room. Something blurred in the corner of her vision. All of a sudden the fire simply went out.

Morgana snapped her hand back, disbelief in her voice. "Sorcery?"

She whirled around. A man stood in the doorway, flanked by two others, staff in hand. Druids by the looks of their cloaks. "You have caused enough death, Morgana."

Morgana's brow furrowed in confusion at this unexpected interruption. "You _oppose_ me?" She looked from him to Uther, not understanding. "What is this, some kind of pact?" She laughed suddenly, a harsh sound, as comprehension began to dawn on her. "My, my, Uther, you must be desperate, if you turned to _sorcery_ to save your precious Camelot. I didn't think even you would stoop so low."

Somehow, Uther managed to choke out the words. "It – wasn't – me."

Morgana smirked. "So Arthur had this bright idea? He never did live up to your expectations." She turned to the druids, disgust in her voice. "And you would betray your own kind to come to Camelot's aid – the kingdom that would kill you for merely existing? Arthur must have been persuasive."

The druid stared at her, his eyes cold. "We are not here for Camelot, Morgana."

Morgana made a small sound of amusement. "Oh really? And what are you here for?"

"Emrys."

Uther had never heard the word before, but Morgana certainly had, if the fear that flashed across her face was anything to go by.

"What do you know about Emrys?" she snapped, her voice icy. The druid remained silent.

"Answer me!" This was a subject that Morgana would not let go of until she knew every detail. Fire grew in her hand, adding weight to the order. "_Bærne!__"_

The druid extinguished the light before it even made it across the room. Startled, Morgana looked at him in horror, finally realising what was wrong.

"You shouldn't be able to do that," she murmured, and for a moment Uther glimpsed the lost girl that she had once been. That she was. "You shouldn't be able to do magic here." Frantically, she released another burst of energy, then another, but the druids parried blow after blow. Uther watched in mild fascination as Morgana seemed to lose control, little by little, with every spell that didn't reach its mark. Her spells grew wilder, less precise.

"I cast the enchantment!" she screamed, finally halting in her onslaught. "Morgause said it would be unbreakable!" At the mention of Morgause, her voice cracked slightly. She hadn't wanted to, but Morgause had promised that everything would be fine, that her magic would seal the enchantment and stop Camelot from ever possessing magic again. Morgause had promised that it was what she wanted, her failing life for a guaranteed way to get Morgana the throne.

Now it seemed that her sacrifice was for nothing.

A cry of rage emerged from her throat – she had lost too much, got too close to fail now. Uther had to die. She _needed _revenge. She whirled around, the words already forming on her lips, and Uther's eyes widened with terror. Good. He deserved to be terrified. "_Abradwian fæhþ!_" She called the magic to her, the hate that surrounded them. She thrust out her hands. This was old, powerful magic – the druids wouldn't be able stop this one.

The druids made no move to stop her – on the contrary, it seemed as if they were waiting for the spell to be cast, waiting to see what it inflicted. Uther silently cursed them, broken as he was – magic users were all the same. They would all see Camelot fall, in the end.

The enchantment spluttered and died inches away from the man's chest.

Morgana's gaze flicked to the druids. They didn't seem surprised. Fear clutched at her heart and she panicked, throwing out every spell she could name. "_Forbærne! Ácwele!_" She screamed with rage. She could almost feel the revenge she so desperately desired slipping through her fingers.

"What have you done?" she shrieked at the druids, "What have you done with my magic?" Her eyes flashed gold, and then not gold, her magic reacting instinctively to her emotions, amplifying them. The floor began to shake.

"It seems that the earth has finally accepted Emrys' magic," the druid murmured, almost to himself.

The name was like a switch. Anger gave way to fury. "What?" she screamed. "Emrys? This is his doing?" Her eyes flashed golden uncontrollably, fighting against whatever it was that supressed it. Uther, released from the enchantment somehow, fell forwards, grasping the table as he stumbled. Glass fell like rain as the windows exploded, smoke billowing in from the burnt land below. Morgana stood in the middle of the chaos, eyes burning. She barely looked human. Uther realised he was trembling. He quickly stilled his hands, disgusted at his cowardice.

"You cannot win, Morgana," the druid warned, straining to be heard over the din, "Arthur is destined to unite Albion. Emrys will be beside him all the way."

Morgana screamed, a piercing howl of rage, and the room was plunged into darkness –

– and then suddenly it wasn't.

When their eyes finally adjusted, all that was left was a room full of destruction.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I'm working with the premise that the druids have teleportation spells, or the like. That's how they got there so fast, if you were wondering.**


	16. Chapter 16

**Next chapter! Sorry it's kind of delayed, but I'm getting a bit snowed under here, so I'm trying to churn it out as fast as I can T3T**

**I'd just like to say to all those who leave reviews (especially the rambling ones ;D ) you're amazing. I can't stop grinning when I open my inbox and find reviews there****. I'm glad to know that the characterisation is up to scratch!**

**And, some Merlin news, apparently they're actually doing a winter episode! Snow and everything! Wouldn't that be awesome? :D **

**So, here it is, enjoy!**

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><p>"Get out of here, <em>druids<em>." Uther spat the word as if it were poison.

Their leader gave him a hard smile, lowering his staff. "What, Uther Pendragon, no thanks?"

"One act is not enough to erase the evil of your kind," Uther muttered. He stayed where he was, knuckles white as he gripped the table edge, trying to come to terms with the destruction around him. Waiting for the inevitable incantation that would end his life. A moment passed, and then another, and he was still standing. He looked up briefly, question in his eyes. "Why?"

The druid regarded him coldly. "Do not misunderstand us. If it were up to us alone, we would have let you perish."

Uther let out a small, hollow laugh, devoid of humour. Of course.

"But the thread of destiny has been pulled so thin," the druid continued, "that even your death, if at slightly the wrong time, could sever it completely. The young Pendragon has called upon us to aid Camelot, and we will not be the ones to destroy the future that we have worked so hard to preserve. We have spared you, Uther Pendragon, because Emrys wished it to be so."

Emrys. Once again the name was uttered, a man so powerful that the druids obeyed him and Morgana trembled in fear. The name sounded familiar, somehow. "And what is this future, this _destiny,_ that Emrys has such interest in?"

The druid paused for a minute before answering. "Emrys is the one who has the power to unite the kingdom of Albion, and restore magic to the land."

"Magic will never return to the kingdom." Uther answered without hesitation, the words rolling off his tongue, dripping with the venom of years of hatred. "And anyone foolish enough to try to will die. Including this 'Emrys'."

It was beginning to flood back to him now. Emrys. A name murmured behind cupped hands amidst gossip of destiny and whispers of sorcery. A leader, and a powerful one. A rally point for all the sorcerers in the land. In that moment, Uther realised that this 'Emrys', if he indeed existed, may be more of a threat to Camelot than even Morgana. He straightened up, eyes hard as stone. "Morgana may have fallen for your trick, but there is no Emrys in this kingdom. And if there were, he would be dead."

One of the druids behind the man made to dart forward, and had it not been for the hand placed on the boy's chest, stopping him in his tracks, Uther got the feeling that his reign wouldn't last much longer either.

"You have no idea what Emrys has sacrificed for you," the druid whispered, his voice laced with anger. He seemed about the same age as Arthur, the hood hiding his youth, but his eyes were burning with a ferocious devotion that only a knight should wear. "_You have no idea."_

The implications of his statement made Uther begin to lose his hold on the red haze of hatred that he'd been trying to keep at bay. It began to fill his mind, his vision. His head jerked up. "Are you telling me that there _is_ a powerful sorcerer in Camelot? Working within Camelot's walls?"

The boy fell silent, an almost guilty look on his face. As if he'd said too much.

"You sorcerers are all the same," Uther snarled, drawing himself to his full height. He would not let these – these _sorcerers – _have the satisfaction of seeing him broken, of toying with Camelot so that they could knock it down when it suited them. "You would all see Camelot fall. You come here under false pretences, offering aid, but you just want Camelot to survive long enough for Emrys to overthrow it, so that you can come out on top." He was shaking now, frustrated by the druids' silence. He took in a deep breath, straining to keep his voice level. "Where is he now, this Emrys? If he truly wants to protect Camelot, then _where is he now?_"

He kept his eye on the boy from before, not missing the dark look that passed over his features. He maintained his silence, however, restrained by the two others reminding him of the need to still his tongue.

"I order you to answer me!" Uther roared, reaching for his sword. Just as fast, the druid leader raised his own staff, matching his speed.

"We do not take orders from you, Uther Pendragon," the man thundered, his voice so commanding that for a second Uther froze, his hand clenched around the hilt. "We are here for Emrys and, by extension, the young Pendragon. We _do not_ take orders from you." Eyeing the man with disgust, he motioned to the others, the group retreating through the door that Morgana had passed through only minutes before. "Your hatred will be the death of you, Uther Pendragon. Do not forget that magic was your saviour this day."

* * *

><p>"Arthur!" Arthur felt his face break out in something almost resembling a smile as Lancelot's face came into view. A familiar face, something normal and real. Something he could deal with. "The druids are here!"<p>

Lancelot seemed in high spirits as he recounted how their men had been surrounded, a wall of fire closing in on all sides, when all of a sudden it had simply been extinguished, revealing a line of druid forces behind it. About how there were fifty or so of them, all pledging allegiance to Arthur. Awaiting his orders.

Arthur nodded, letting himself forget everything and focussing on this new force that had been added to their ranks. This time, he really did smile. May be now they had a fighting chance. "We need to get the word out that they fight for us."

Lancelot nodded. "I talked to Percival and Elyan, and they seemed to accept the logic without too many objections. Leon's with the druids now, awaiting orders." He paused for a moment, running a hand through his hair. "Have you seen Merlin anywhere?"

Gwaine jerked involuntarily. "Mer –"

"Gwaine, you were the only other one who came with me to recruit the druids." Arthur interrupted him before he could get the words out, ignoring Lancelot's question completely. "I need you to locate Sir Leon, and together work out a way of spreading the word that the druids are on _our _side whilst I find my father. We don't want our forces to turn on our only allies."

Gwaine opened his mouth to object, but once again Arthur cut him off with a stern glare. "Do we, _Sir Gwaine?" _If looks could kill, Arthur would have been dead a thousand times over. Lancelot watched them both, worry beginning to gnaw at his gut – it didn't take a genius to work out what was wrong. Arthur met Gwaine's frustrated gaze with one of his own, one that said that they had a responsibility, and that there was nothing he could do for now. That Gwaine would just have to deal with it, because otherwise none of them would live to see the next sunrise.

Finally, it was Gwaine who dropped his gaze, eyes still smouldering. He left without a word.

The air was so heavy with things unsaid, it was hard to breathe. "Where's Merlin, Arthur?" Lancelot asked quietly. Arthur stiffened.

"We lost him down the corridor by the banquet hall," he said. His voice was strange, mechanical, with no emotion. "The roof caved in."

"_Lost_ him?" The word had two possible meanings. "What do you mean? Is he –?"

"I don't know."

Something was wrong – Lancelot had watched as Merlin and Arthur grew closer in the past few months he'd been in Camelot, each one of them valuing the other's companionship more than they would care to admit. Seeing Arthur so detached at Merlin's absence – angry, almost – this wasn't like him. Something had happened between them.

"He went with you." There was a carefully controlled anger in the statement, an accusation hidden barely below the surface. "He's in no condition to fight."

For the briefest of moments, Arthur looked like he disagreed. Then, almost as if making a split second decision, Arthur gripped the man's arm, leaning in close. "Find him."

He didn't need to say any more. Lancelot nodded.

Arthur turned and walked away without a second glance, not once looking back.

Lancelot understood exactly how Gwaine felt.

* * *

><p>The corridor was deserted, save for the dead. The fire had certainly done its work here, the majestic walls now striped with black ash and the stone smoking in a way that should have never been possible, driving away living forces of both sides.<p>

The druids must have already been here, Lancelot noted, as his foot kicked away the sword of one of the less fortunate fallen. He wondered how long it took them to put it out, how much magic it had taken. Whether Merlin would've been able to do it, in his state. He realised that Arthur hadn't told him anything about the kind of state he'd left Merlin in.

He came to a stop just before the pile of rubble that Arthur had spoken of. He could see now how hopeless the situation had been, with Merlin stuck on this side and them on the other. Lancelot found that he couldn't completely condemn Arthur for leaving Merlin here – after all, it was the most logical thing to do, the most practical. Arthur was the Prince; after all, he had other duties. Somehow, he couldn't quite see Gwaine agreeing.

The fire was worst here, the rubble smudged a deep black. Merlin must also be nearby. It took Lancelot a good few seconds to find him, the boy's jacket so stained by the ash and the smoke that Lancelot almost completely missed him. Merlin was slumped against the wall, head towards the stonework, seemingly untouched by the fire. Lancelot didn't know how Merlin had managed to do it, but he was glad.

"Merlin!"

He fell to his knees beside him, rolling him over. Merlin's head lolled in his arms, eyes closed, and forehead sticky with the blood from a gash that had long since dried.

He was so still.

Panicking, Lancelot leant forwards, his ear over the boy's mouth. The head wound didn't look serious – whatever it was had barely scratched the skin – but he knew about smoke inhalation. About how it clogged up your airways until you couldn't breathe. Had Merlin not been able to save himself in time?

A breath, and another. Small, but there.

Letting out a breath of his own that he hadn't realised he'd been holding, Lancelot leant forwards to sling the boy over his shoulder. He didn't know what had happened with Arthur, or what Merlin had been up to, but there was no denying that Merlin needed Gaius _now._

Merlin _flickered_.

Lancelot stopped, his arm inches away from the boy. He blinked twice. He could actually see the wall through Merlin, as if he were frosted glass instead of flesh and bone.

"What are you doing?" he murmured.

He looked at the boy's face, expecting the familiar flash of golden, but there was no consciousness there. Cautiously, he reached out to grasp Merlin's shoulder. Instead of meeting resistance, his hand went straight through it, as if through water. Merlin shuddered violently, and Lancelot snatched his hand back.

"Merlin?" He couldn't keep the fear out of his voice. "Merlin, I don't know what you're doing, but you've got to stop."

Lancelot didn't want to risk touching him again, so, instead he did the only thing he could think of – he stared hard at the figure in front of him, trying hard not to blink. Hoping that, somehow, it would prevent Merlin from disappearing altogether.

In the end Lancelot had to give in, his vision blurring. When he opened his eyes again, he could no longer see the wall through Merlin's stomach.

Tentatively, Lancelot reached out. Merlin seemed solid enough. Immediately, Lancelot swung the boy over his shoulder, making for the hall where he knew Gaius would be. Lancelot felt as if he was in too deep – he didn't pretend to understand magic, and he most certainly didn't understand what had just happened, but he knew that there was something very wrong here.

"Hold on," Lancelot breathed.

He ran.

* * *

><p>"I will not have sorcerers fight for us."<p>

"There is no other way, father." Arthur struggled to keep his voice level. "We must fight magic with magic – Morgana's fire is eating away at the castle, and has already compeltely overrun the west wing."

Uther's voice was condescending, the same tone that he always used when he was convinced that he was right and that Arthur simply had no idea. The tone Arthur hated. "They will turn on us, Arthur. They told me themselves."

Trying to overcome his father's hatred was like running continually into a wall, over and over again. Arthur sighed. "They gave me their _word. _They are honourable, peaceful people – I believe that they will not go back on it."

Uther slammed his hands onto the table, the glass around him jumping with the sudden vibration.

"They are waiting for Camelot to fall!"

Arthur snapped. Too many times had he folded at his father's argument, indulging him in his blinded beliefs, but not today. Not when the fate of the kingdom was in the balance.

"That may be, father," Arthur shouted, "But they are the only chance that we have of lasting the day! We don't have time for this – every second we spend here is the life of our people we waste!" His father's silence provided him with the resolve he needed – he spun on his heel, drawing his sword. "We don't have time for this."

"Arthur." Arthur paused in the doorway. His father looked at him, fury in his eyes – fury at being saved by sorcery, at his son disobeying his wishes, at the ward he so loved being driven away from him by the evil that was magic. "Put out the fires," Uther hissed. "Nothing more."

Arthur nodded stiffly in his father's direction. He couldn't make out the muttered sentence that came after it, but even if he had, he wouldn't have understood its significance.

"I will find this 'Emrys', and he will pay along with the rest of them."

* * *

><p>Lancelot stumbled through the doorway, his eyes hastily scanning the crowded room.<p>

"Gaius?" he called. His voice barely carried over the groans of the wounded and the whispers of the restless, but it somehow managed to reach Gwen's ears. The affectionate smile that graced her face at the sound fell as soon as her dark eyes found them, a hand immediately going to her mouth. The bowl in her hands broke on the floor, water splashing everywhere as she ran to the back of the room, fear in her eyes.

The physician reached them with surprising speed, his limbs creaking with the obvious effort. Gwen hovered behind him, wringing her fingers.

"Does he live?" The man didn't waste his words.

Lancelot paused for a moment, and the colour literally drained from Gaius' face. Gwen reached out to steady him, the hand still at her mouth.

"Yes," Lancelot answered hastily, "He's breathing, but –"

"What happened?" Gwen's voice was thick with worry, and even though there was no accusation in her voice Lancelot felt a stab of guilt. There was an unspoken agreement between the two of them that he would look after Merlin, something Merlin was notoriously bad at when it came to himself, and he had failed. Lancelot didn't even know what had happened to him.

"I – I don't know," he said, almost shamefully. "Arthur said ceiling caved in, and it made Merlin unreachable. He told me to find him, and I – I did," he finished lamely.

Gaius was guiding them towards an empty bed, sweeping the debris to the floor with a muttered, "lay him here." The boy was paler than before, his head rolling limply to the side as Lancelot gently lowered him onto the empty space. The physician ran through the usual motions, checking for breathing, for a temperature, for injuries. Smoothing the boy's hair. Squeezing his hand.

"Merlin, can you hear me?"

He didn't know why he was doing this, the procedural motions. He knew what Merlin had done – it was a miracle that he was back at all – but he couldn't stop himself. The faint glimmer of hope that ignited upon Merlin's return was stubbornly refusing to be quashed, the idea that maybe, once again, Merlin would be able to thwart the odds and accomplish what he had set out to do, whilst coming back in one piece.

Merlin didn't stir. Gwen ran off, presumably to get supplies, the sight of Merlin after everything she'd seen today too much for her to handle.

Lancelot caught the physician by the shoulder. "Gaius, there's something wrong."

Gaius raised an eyebrow, a hint of the familiar sarcasm creeping into his voice. "I don't need _you_ to tell me that, SirLancelot."

Lancelot allowed himself the briefest smile. "I mean it, something – something _magical._" He leant in closer, lowering his voice. "Gaius, when I found him, Merlin … he _flickered._"

That certainly had Gaius' attention. "What do you mean?" His voice was sharp.

"He … he wasn't solid. I could see straight through him, as if he simply wasn't there."

If Gaius had seemed pale before, he was positively colourless now. He turned his face away, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment.

"We'd better move him away from everyone else then," he murmured wearily. "It would be probably be best if you take him to my chambers when this wretched battle is over."

Lancelot felt his heart begin to pound at the man's expression. There was a resignation there that he had seen on Merlin's face only days before, an emotion that tore at your heart. "Gaius, what's happening?"

Gaius wouldn't answer. "I'm glad it was you who found him."

"Gaius?" Lancelot stepped in front the physician, forcing the man to acknowledge him, his voice insistent. "I know he's been planning something for a while now, something that was torturing him. Everyone noticed something was wrong, even Arthur." Lancelot sighed. "Before I found Merlin, something seemed … off. Gwaine seemed ready to blow just from the sight of Arthur – more so than normal – and when I confronted Arthur about where Merlin was, it was almost as if he didn't care."

Gaius seemed disinterested. "Do you have any idea why that might be?" The words sounded almost too casual.

Lancelot sighed. "I know that there's something going on that you've both been keeping a secret. Usually I would respect that, but Merlin is … there's something terribly wrong_, _Gaius, and you know why. I have a right to know what he's done, and what I can do to save him."

Finally Gaius looked at him, the small, sad smile that he managed to conjure not quite matching the absolute sorrow in his eyes. And the pride. "He knew what he was doing, and neither you nor I could have stopped him. I don't think there's anything you can do."


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Long time no see! Apologies for the long wait - it's a very busy time for me right now, so updates are likely to be slow for the next month or two, but don't worry - this story will never be abandoned! **

**And, never fear, I know we're in an angsty place now, but there is more bromance to come.**

**Enjoy, and thanks to everyone who's taken the time to review!**

* * *

><p>It didn't take long to turn the tide of the battle.<p>

Leon watched as the sorcerer tried and failed to land what seemed to be a blade of fire on his flesh, wielding the weapon with the air of someone who knew he possessed something powerful but hadn't taken the time to learn how to use it. Not one blow had landed, but Leon guessed that was more due to the druid he could see out of the corner of his eye rather than his opponent's incompetence. Either way, he wasn't going to complain.

He did what he had been trained to do. The sorcerer fell at the blow of a sword just like any mortal would.

"Their sorcerers are useless now!" Leon roared, watching as the men around him gathered themselves up, drinking in the hope and the adrenaline and the promise of an end to all of this. Smoke poured out across the battlefield, Morgana's forces watching almost curiously as the blood-streaked men clutched their swords tighter, stood up straighter. "The Prince has given us a chance to survive – now is the time to show him that he was right to choose you as a protector of the realm! We fight for Camelot!"

Fatigue was all but forgotten as they rushed at the mortals before them, the ground running with blood the colour of Camelot. Distantly, Leon heard more forces behind him, a cry of hope rippling through the ranks as steel clashed in the smoke. Hope was all they had to drive them, but it shone as brightly as any magic ever could.

When the call to retreat finally went up from the enemy ranks, Arthur couldn't help but feel as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. His fingers gripped the parapet in disbelief as, behind him, Gwaine silenced the last of Morgana's men with a lick of his sword.

"We've done it."

It came out quietly, almost a whisper. Beside him, he heard Gwaine fall to his knees, a small chuckle escaping the knight's throat as they watched a wave of red flush the last of the darkness from the grounds. The cheer that rose up around them resonated right through the heart of kingdom, the air electric with a relief that overrided the exhaustion.

It had been four days. Four days of fighting against forces that never ceased, that possessed magic that could make stone burn. The odds had not been in their favour, yet here they were. He repeated it again, louder. "We've done it!" Arthur let out a short bark of laughter, spinning around. "Merlin, we've done it!"

His eyes searched the empty air. And then he remembered.

The elation that coursed through his veins vanished almost as fast as it came, reality dampening the feeling of victory somewhat. Arthur quickly schooled his features into something more befitting his station, the memory of Merlin's absence sobering him considerably. He could feel Gwaine's unspoken accusation without even having to look.

"Camelot is victorious," he said, offering the man a hand. Gwaine stared at it for a moment before accepting, staggering slightly as he regained his bearings. He flicked his hair to the side, grinning.

"Naturally. You've got me, haven't you?" Arthur supressed a snort of disbelief. Gwaine's hand went to his side, his bravado dropping momentarily as he stared out across the destruction – the smoke, the men, the noise of war. There was something slightly different to the knight's smile, something that set Arthur slightly on edge as he spoke. "We're knights of Camelot – we don't go down without a fight."

He paused, his eyes searching for the person that wasn't there.

"None of us do."

* * *

><p>It was a good few hours before things began calming down, the knights scattered in all directions to try and recover what they could of the scorched kingdom. Arthur swore what he'd done in the past hour was more demanding than the whole of the past few days put together. He pursed his lips, and shelved that thought amongst the many others labelled 'Merlin'.<p>

"It seems the battle is over." The druids stood a few metres away, their leader regarding Arthur with the hint of a smile on his lips. "You fight well."

Beside him, he felt Leon start. The druid's knack of appearing almost out of nowhere had caught him just as off-guard as it had Arthur. The ability was unnerving to say the least.

"Thank you for your help," Arthur said sincerely, striding over to meet them. "Camelot will never forget the service you have done her today."

The druid nodded slightly in acknowledgement. "We trust in the world you will build." Arthur paused – those words sounded familiar. He shook his head slightly, the echo of Merlin's laughter ringing in his ears. "Will you not stay the night? Rest, and let the wounded replenish their strength?"

In contrast to Camelot's own, the druids had not suffered any losses – the group that had strode through the doors that morning was fully assembled in front of him, streaked and tired, but none the worse for wear. If only Camelot could say the same.

"We will not overstay your hospitality," the druid declined. "We do not doubt your intentions, but your father has persecuted too many of our people for us to stay here for any longer than we must. This is the last time our kind will set foot Camelot whilst he still reigns."

Arthur frowned slightly, trying to detect a threat in the words. Sensing his discontentment, the druid smiled warmly, gesturing towards his people. "We look forward to meeting you again, Arthur Pendragon."

Slowly, Arthur nodded. "We will ensure you have safe passage out of the kingdom." He clasped the man's forearm in a gesture of thanks, and it was returned, if only slightly hesitantly. The druid lowered his voice. "Soon, you have a choice to make. We trust that you will make the right decision."

Arthur pulled away, a wary look on his face. "What –?"

"Trust in your heart, Arthur Pendragon, and in your destiny." The druid smiled again, inclining his head in farewell. "You, after all, are the once and future king. You have a lot to live up to."

* * *

><p>There was something about Merlin's condition that struck a chord at the back of Gaius' mind, little pieces that began to fall into place as the day wore on. In body he may have been working, but Gaius' mind was still with Merlin, leafing through every book he owned and ever read, hungering for answers, for hope.<p>

In a kingdom that had suffered so much, everyone understood the grief that he hid.

Gaius had his suspicions. It was with a heavy heart that he rifled through his book of magic, searching breathlessly for a spell that he knew was there. A spell to reveal the concealed, to strip away all glamour and enchantments.

Gaius reached out a hand towards the boy, his lips stumbling nervously over the unfamiliar words. In the dull glow of the candlelight, his hand shook as gold flashed in the shadows.

"_Áberan hwelc dēogollīce, __wǣron līfe ge on legere._"

There was a moment of silence, the world holding its breath just as Gaius held his own, waiting curiously to see what would happen. Desperately hoping that nothing would happen.

There was a slight shift of the air, and then Merlin's body stilled, his shadowed skin paling to the greyish tinge of someone long since dead. The candle flickered.

Gaius felt something in his heart break.

"Oh, my boy," he murmured, overcome with the urge to gather the boy in his arms protectively, knowing he was far too late. "My boy." He swallowed thickly. "I'm so sorry this happened to you." His fingers curled around Merlin's cold ones, squeezing his eyes shut to stop the tears he knew were sure to come. "What have you got yourself into?" The enchantment receded at the physical touch, and Merlin's sudden breath shattered the silence as his chest fell back into its weak rhythm. Gaius clasped his hand even tighter, feeling the warmth flow back into it.

The candle blew out.

They sat there in darkness, the old man clutching the boy like a lifeline, as if he was the one who needed saving.

* * *

><p>"It has been a while, physician." Kilgharrah's voice rumbled through the night.<p>

"I am only sorry it is not in happier times," Gaius agreed, breath escaping him. The dragon inclined his head gravely.

"I know why you have come to find me." There was a sadness there that seemed to echo Gaius' own, of someone who experienced this all before.

"Merlin is fading." Gaius knew he didn't need to explain. He unconsciously laid a hand to his aching back – he was getting too old for such journeys. "He did what he set out to do – by right, he should not have survived, should he?"

Kilgharrah watched him in silence.

"Merlin is dead." It sounded more a question than a statement. Gaius carried on slowly, as if trying to work it out for himself. "Yet, at the same time, he isn't." He paused. "He's trapped somewhere in between the two. Am I right in saying that the only reason why he's still here is because destiny is keeping him here?"

"Your theory is correct, physician," Kilgharrah confirmed, his voice grave. "Merlin is indeed trapped in between the two worlds, tethered here by the frayed strands of his destiny. What you are seeing is merely an echo of his magic – it is the warlock, but all you are seeing are events that have already happened, that are destined to happen. But –" Kilgharrah paused, "– the fact that the warlock is still here is proof enough that destiny is trying to right itself. The warlock was _never_ meant to sacrifice his magic."

"Then there is a chance that he can be saved?" Gaius couldn't keep the hope out of his voice. The dragon didn't reply. Gaius sucked in a deep, steadying breath. "I am an old man, Kilgharrah. Merlin is the only thing that I have left to love in this world. I need to know whether –" His voice cracked, "– whether there is _any_ chance of saving him."

"Merlin gave his magic to the earth. Therefore, physician, the solution is simple: Arthur must get the earth to give it back. "

Merlin, Gaius realised with the ghost of a smile, wasn't exaggerating when he said that getting what you needed Kilgharrah was like trying to draw water from stone.

"The string of destiny has frayed in the place where it is weakest, land that realises that it should not accept this gift of power but has no choice. Merlin is also tethered there." The dragon cocked his head slightly to one side, a curious glint in his eye. "I believe you are familiar with it."

It clicked. "The Isle of the Blessed." Gaius exhaled softly. "It's always that wretched place."

"The Old Religion is a tricky thing," the creature agreed. It paused, a small, sad smile on his face. "Contrary to what others may believe, I do not wish to see the warlock go. He is my only kin – I think I feel a pain not quite unlike your own."

* * *

><p>It was quiet without Merlin, Arthur realised with a tinge of regret. Better, obviously – he could hear himself think now, without the incessant moaning and useless information that Merlin was always spouting. Only –<p>

Only he'd rather not be left alone to think right now.

Sighing, he leant forwards, resting his chin on his palms. Fatigue was a feeling he had begun to take for granted now, weariness of battle and responsibility ingrained so deeply in him it may as well be written in his bones. He closed his eyes for a moment, knowing full well that, once again, sleep would elude him.

"_It does not matter whether we won or lost, Arthur, what matters is that you expressly went against my wishes and drafted the help of those – those sorcerers!"_

"_Father, please see sense." It was hard to keep his frustration out of his voice. "Without their help, those fires would have burnt Camelot to the ground. We would not be here."_

"_We would have thought of something." Uther waved his hand dismissively, as if waving away an irrelevant worry of a panicked child. "What kind of example do you think you set, having sorcerers fight for Camelot? You've sown doubt – the people now doubt the nature of magic_. _That is something we can't afford!"_

_Arthur resisted the urge to ask why it was, exactly, so bad that people doubted that all magic was evil – he couldn't deny that, after the druid's display, their argument seemed more logical. Uther was beginning to turn a curious shade of purple. _

_"You've undone everything I've worked so hard to build!" The King paused, trying to compose himself. Arthur flexed his fingers._

"_Do you truly believe they were helping Camelot out of the kindness of their hearts?" Uther spoke as if trying to reason with a stubborn child. Arthur's second of hesitation was all that he needed. "They told me everything, Arthur. They wanted to save the kingdom, yes, but it was only so that their own leader could take it over when the time was right. Emrys. They believe 'Emrys' will return magic to Camelot, and they plan to ensnare you in process." _

_His tone was soft, almost sympathetic. Arthur wasn't fooled. "Do you understand, now, why it is so important that you realise that you cannot rely on sorcerers?"_

He hated how his father could look past all the good that he'd done, somehow strip away everything that he was, and leave him feeling like a child again. A child craving his father's approval, only to get it thrown back in his face.

Morgana had escaped, somehow. When Arthur had brought it up, Uther lost hold of his rage, roaring at Arthur to get out of his sight until further notice. There was a madness in his eyes that made Arthur wonder whether he had finally been broken beyond repair.

Arthur could feel a migraine starting.

Where was Merlin when you needed him? He groaned again, rubbing his hands over his face. There was a little voice at the back of his mind telling him that he _really should _go and visit Merlin, see how he was, but he just couldn't face that right now.

Merlin symbolised too many questions, too many emotions that Arthur really didn't want to have to confront at the moment. How long had Merlin had magic for? How Merlin – his ridiculous, incompetent servant who couldn't hide the truth if his life depended on it – had somehow managed to keep something as big as this a secret was beyond him.

Arthur hit his forehead against his fists. How could he have been so blind? The realisation that Merlin didn't trust him had faded to a dull ache, but he could still feel it in the pit of his stomach. Why had Merlin chosen to study magic when he'd known it was against the law? When he could be killed for simply mentioning the word? Somehow, Arthur couldn't swallow the story that he was planning to overthrow the kingdom – the idea of Merlin trying to overthrow anything was comical, and Arthur doubted that anyone would take him seriously even if he tried. Nothing seemed to add up.

Not for the first time, Arthur wondered whether Merlin lacked common sense, or whether he was just eager to die.

* * *

><p>The sun was beginning to rise by the time Gaius arrived back to Camelot. He found Lancelot waiting for him at the gate, anxious for his safety after such a long journey in the dark. "What news?" the man asked tentatively, a note of hope in his voice. Gaius, short of breath from the journey, managed one word. "Arthur."<p>

Lancelot had left a candle burning in Merlin's chambers so that it would not be pitch black when they returned. What he hadn't expected, however, was to find Gwaine was sitting at the table, staring at it as if it somehow held the key to every question that had ever been asked.

"Gwaine?"

The knight's head snapped up, breaking into a lopsided grin at their outraged expressions. "Nice of you to join me."

"_Sir _Gwaine – " Gaius began indignantly, eyebrow poised for maximum effect, but Gwaine cut him off mid-flow.

"I know that Merlin has magic," he announced before anyone could reprimand him, "So tell me what's going on." Gaius froze uncertainly. Lancelot took one glance at Gwaine – the state of his hair, the familiar stench that wafted into the room with him, the early hour of the morning – and put two and two together.

"You're drunk," Lancelot pointed out. Gwaine looked insulted at the idea.

"Yes, I've been in the tavern, but I'll have you know that I was having a very intellectual conversation with the barmaid before I came here." He sighed softly. "She wouldn't let me have any more drink."

"I'm not surprised." Gaius wasn't really in the mood for one of Gwaine's drunken visits, not at this time of the morning. Not when there were things he needed to sort out.

"But, I digress." Gwaine's expression was the very picture of seriousness. "I know that there's something going on here. I've seen you two –" He very seriously pointed at each of them in turn. " –having your little secret discussions. Keeping Merlin hidden away and not letting anyone see him."

Lancelot sighed.

"So I thought I'd drop by," Gwaine sounded very pleased with himself. "To show him that there were some people who still cared about him. And to ask him about his magic." He added, almost as an afterthought. There was silence for a moment, and Lancelot wondered how far he'd manage to drag Gwaine from the chambers before the other drew his sword.

When Gwaine next spoke, his voice was deadly serious. "He disappeared in front of my eyes."

"For how long?" Gaius asked sharply. When Gwaine's eyes met his, they were perfectly clear.

"For the longest time."

Then the moment was over, and he groaned, placing his head in his hands. "Merlin is my best – was my only – friend. It's not fair that Lancelot knows. Just tell me what's going on."

Gaius didn't bother pointing out that Gwaine was sounding more like a petulant child than a concerned friend. Sighing, he gingerly lowered himself into a chair, hissing slightly at the ache in his back. It would be better to just get it into the open now, whilst it was calm. Otherwise Gwaine would just make trouble for everyone until he was told. "How long have you known?"

"Arthur and I, we walked in on him doing some kind of enchantment. Before he collapsed. The princess was pretty cut up about it." Gaius raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "I'm not saying that I wasn't surprised, but I wasn't raised in Camelot – I've seen magic used for good. Not everyone believes it's as black and white as Uther makes it seem." He turned to Lancelot, flicking his hair. "I take it you knew, then?"

Lancelot smiled apologetically. "I found out by accident. He saved my life."

Gwaine chuckled softly. "It's a miracle that Merlin's managed to keep it a secret all this time."

"He's much braver than anyone gives him credit for," Lancelot couldn't keep the hint of pride from his voice.

Gaius let out an exasperated sigh. "I was thinking more along the lines of 'completely stupid'."

"But, the whole disappearing thing, it's not normal, is it?" Gwaine didn't bother to hide the concern in his voice. He ran a hand through his hair, the image of Merlin burned into his mind – when Gwaine had found him, for a second he thought he was dead. That alone had been enough to cut through the haze of the ale. "When I last saw him, one minute Merlin was helping me make it down the corridor in one piece, the next he was running like his life depended on it. I know that he didn't think he'd be coming back. And, by the looks of it, neither did you."

Gaius inclined his head slightly. "There was … a slim chance." He chose his words carefully, but didn't stop. Gwaine needed to know. "Merlin was born with magic, a rare thing. Merlin's magic is, in effect, his life force. He has the ability to, when the situation is particularly dire, to exchange the two. He doesn't realise, of course."

_Even if he had, it probably wouldn't have changed_ _anything._

"Morgana had cast a curse on Camelot, and old curse that barred magic from being used for Camelot – effectively, a spell that sealed our demise. By right, it should be unbreakable, but Merlin is … different. He sacrificed his magic to break it." His voice was even and to the point, a trait learnt from years of experience of being the deliverer of bad news. "All we see here is an echo of his magic, and as the echo fades, so does he."

"An echo?" Gwaine didn't like the sound of what that implied. "What do you mean?"

Gaius sighed wearily, a heart-wrenching sound. "Merlin died the very moment he gave his magic to the earth."

"What?" Gwaine jerked as if he physically hit. He felt oddly hollow.

"He's dead?" The horror in Lancelot's voice mirrored his own – how did they not realise? Not stop him? Gaius cast his eyes down, the grief they were displaying tugging uncomfortably at his chest. He had shed his tears already.

"But … he's here." Gwaine gestured to the door behind which Merlin was sleeping. "He's breathing."

"An echo," Gaius repeated dully. "Tethered between the land of both the living and the dead."

"That can't be – "

"There must be something you can do." Gwaine's voice was deadly calm. "I can tell you haven't given up yet."

Gaius fixed him with a hard look. "Do you think I would ever give up on him?"

The silence was answer enough.

"Before you invited yourself into my chambers," Gaius said reproachfully – Gwaine, to his credit, did look a little sheepish – "I did find something.

You must understand, Merlin is special. He is intertwined so completely in this kingdom's destiny that his … death –" Gaius found it hard to get the word out, "– was _never_ meant to happen." He was addressing both men now. "Arthur and Merlin's destiny are one and the same – one cannot be without the other. Therefore, Arthur is the only one who may be able to reverse this."

"Then there is a way to change this? To save him?" Lancelot couldn't quite keep the hope out of his voice. Gaius nodded.

"There is a small chance. Arthur must travel on a quest to the Isle of the Blessed and willingly command the earth to release Merlin's magic."


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: I made sure I got this finished this week, because I just didn't want you to wait any longer... This was also meant to be longer, but I had to cut it short and add it to the next chapter because otherwise this would've gone on forever (I was just having too much fun writing the next bit!)**

**Thanks for all the reviews, everything is appreciated! Drop by and tell me what you think~**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>"Father, Morgana has been sighted." Arthur's voice rang through the open space of the council chamber, his sister's name echoing uncomfortably loud in the silence that followed. This was the first time he'd spoken to his father since their disagreement. "I have received information that Morgana has fled to the Isle of the Blessed in order to retrieve some sort of magical weapon."<p>

Gaius, in his corner of the room, looked up in shock. Uther eyed Arthur suspiciously. "And where did you hear this?"

"A number of people in the lower town." Arthur answered quickly. Almost too quickly. "We've also received information from the scouts who went to patrol the southern border yesterday. She'd attacked a number of people in her haste to escape, some left alive. They knew of her plans."

"I have also heard this," Gaius added from his position by the wall. Both heads turned towards him, wearing almost identical expressions of surprise. He stepped forwards. "It has long been rumoured that there is an ancient weapon hidden on the Isle of the Blessed – a staff of the ancients, possessing power beyond belief. It was believed to have been destroyed centuries ago, but that is apparently not the case."

Arthur nodded. "That is what I've heard."

"Is that so?" Uther's voice was icy. "Then where was this weapon Morgana was laying siege to our walls? It cannot have been that much of a threat if we overpowered her forces."

Gaius was not put off by Uther's angry gaze. "It has been said that it is protected by the strongest of enchantments, ensuring that it remains hidden to both magic and mortal alike. However, the Isle of the Blessed is a place flowing with the oldest magic, and therefore adheres to the constraints old religion – at the winter solstice, the spirit and mortal world collide, there more than anywhere else. It would weaken the enchantments, if not strip them away completely, providing whomever wished to retrieve it a window of a few hours in which to work."

Uther didn't look convinced.

Arthur took a step towards his father, his voice serious. "Morgana has been humiliated by her defeat – she will be planning to obtain the staff in order to wreak her revenge on Camelot and all who inhabit it. This staff will give her not only the power to do this, but the power to wipe all traces of Camelot's existence off the earth. We cannot let that happen."

"I cannot spare any men to chase rumours, Arthur. Surely you're not telling me that you believe this gossip?"

The look of agitation in Arthur's eyes answered that, actually, he did, wholeheartedly, and he thought his father a fool not to. If Morgana's attack had taught them anything, it was not to take threats like this lightly. Gaius sighed, feeling the man's irritation – years of standing by Uther's side had taught the physician exactly how to get the King to listen, perhaps even better than Uther's own son.

"Sire, if you could obtain this staff and destroy it, Camelot would never again have to fear magical attack." Gaius paused, choosing his words carefully. "It would not only ensure the kingdom's future, it would also set an example to the rest of the land – destroying something as powerful as that would show that magic can never rule Camelot, that the kingdom is one to truly be feared."

He didn't miss the way Uther's eyes began to shine at the idea, the idea of power appealing to him more than anything else could. Gaius silently apologised to Merlin and those like him, swallowing down the ugly feeling as he watched Uther roll the idea around in his mind. Then he began to press his advantage.

"Now is the only time we can obtain it, Sire. It's the winter solstice in two days' time – this may be the only time that we can retrieve it, if we don't want it falling into enemy hands."

"If this is true," Uther began hesitantly, "then it would indeed be a great asset to us. Sorcerers would see that even the most powerful magic will be fruitless against our kingdom."

"Yes, Sire," Gaius agreed. Uther didn't notice that there was no enthusiasm in his voice.

"It would be a fitting quest for Arthur to undertake," Uther mused, resting his chin on his fingers. Gaius looked away. It's for Merlin, he reminded himself, this is all for Merlin.

"I will send Arthur," Uther said suddenly, placing his hands on the table. "You will have three days in order to retrieve the staff and bring it back here. I cannot spare any more – time, nor men." He waved his hand at the door, signalling that their conversation was over.

Relief surged through the physician like a wave. Gaius could feel Arthur's eyes on him, studying him, but he gave away nothing.

"I will leave tomorrow morning, father," Arthur nodded, taking his leave. Gaius mirrored his actions.

"Gaius," Uther called sharply. The physician turned, eyes questioning. "I am sending Arthur on this quest because I trust in your information. If he comes back empty handed, I will not be pleased."

"Naturally, Sire." Forcing a smile, Gaius bowed again. It dropped as soon as his back was turned. Uther's threats had little impact on him now – everything would be worth it if Merlin lived. Nothing Uther could do to him compared to the alternative.

* * *

><p>"I trust that it was you who fed Arthur that story?" Gaius asked incredulously as Gwaine met him with a smug expression. "How you managed to do it is beyond me – he truly believed everything that was said, enough to challenge his father."<p>

"I took him to the tavern, didn't I? He may pretend he can, but, compared to me, he can't hold his drink." Gwaine grinned. "All it took was a couple of flagons of mead, a whisper in his ear, and he can't remember where the information came from, only that it was important. Combine that with the patrol that I so kindly volunteered to write the report for, and you've got one convinced Prince."

Despite himself, Gaius conceded that it was, indeed, a task that only Gwaine could have pulled off with such flourish. Gwaine laughed and slapped the old physician on the back. "You're not too bad yourself – how you made all of that stuff up and still managed to convince the King is beyond me."

Gaius couldn't suppress a smile at that. "I was young once too, you know."

* * *

><p>It was well before dawn that Arthur prepared depart, his breath fogging the darkness as his cold hands fumbled with the straps of the saddle. Camelot was quiet at night, a far cry from the usual bustle, and it was because of the silence that he heard the figure approaching long before they reached him.<p>

"You're late, Merlin," he reprimanded without looking up. "I've already finished."

"In that case, could you do mine?"

Arthur spun around, the unfamiliar voice throwing him for a second. Gwaine stared back at him, hand entwined with the reins of a horse saddled just as Arthur's was.

Arthur struggled to keep his voice indifferent. "Not at the tavern tonight, then?"

"I've been already." Gwaine just stood there, watching as Arthur checked over his horse, his gaze never leaving Arthur's back. It was irritating.

"Where's Merlin?" Arthur asked sharply. Gwaine bit back a sarcastic retort.

"He didn't fancy it," the knight shrugged, swinging a leg onto his horse. "He obviously realised that you were too much of a prat, and asked me to inform you that he really didn't fancy a holiday today."

Arthur stared at him, a crease in his forehead. "Merlin said that?" Was Merlin trying to avoid him? Or was this some elaborate plot to get him out of the kingdom so that Merlin could overthrow it whilst he was away? No, somehow he didn't quite believe that.

"So, where are we headed?"

Arthur looked at the knight in disbelief. "You are not seriously coming with me."

Gwaine flashed him a grin. "Of course I am, princess. We can't have you wandering off on your own, can we?"

"Gwaine." The incredulity had gone from Arthur's voice, replaced by a quietly controlled anger. "My father gave me this quest to do _alone. _You are not coming. Even Merlin shouldn't be coming."

"Well then, it's good that he's not, isn't it? Wouldn't want him getting to any more trouble."

"_Gwaine, you had better go with Arthur." Lancelot looked as if he had other ideas, but Gaius interrupted him. "Merlin's magic knows you - you were there when it was released. If it senses anyone else, apart from you or Arthur, it will see it as a threat. Merlin will be lost to us for good."_

"Actually, no, you're right," Gwaine remarked, "I'm not going with you." He eased his horse into step behind Arthur's, feeling a stab of satisfaction at the disgruntled expression on Arthur's face as the Prince worked himself up into 'Royal Prat' mode. "I just happen to be travelling in the same direction, to the same place. How's that?"

_Lancelot laughed. "Arthur will _not_ be happy." _

"_Good."_

Arthur turned his most angry 'I'm-the-future-king' glare on the knight, burning into him. "If this is about Merlin," he growled softly, "then you can leave it, okay? I'm not talking about that now."

"_Gwaine," Gaius sighed. "This isn't Arthur's fault, you know." _

Everything comes down to Merlin, Gwaine thought grimly, but you don't have a clue.

"_I don't know what you're going to find on that Isle, but I need you to protect Arthur. Swear to me that you'll do that." There was silence for a moment. "Gwaine," Gaius prompted, "I am absolutely serious about this."_

"_I'll swear it, but only for Merlin."_

"I told you, I just fancy a ride. And the Isle of the Blessed is meant to be _beautiful _this time of year." Gwaine announced brightly, urging his horse forwards. "Let's get going, shall we?"

Arthur stared after him in exasperation, but somehow couldn't bring himself to send him back. How Gwaine had got hold of the information about the quest was beyond him – only him, his father and Gaius knew, and somehow he couldn't see Gwaine and Gaius plotting together. He'd heard Gaius complaining often enough about Gwaine's bad habits and loud personality, that the idea of them working together was almost comical.

"You owe me, Gwaine," he muttered under his breath, racing to catch up with the knight streaking ahead of him. "I could have your knighthood for this."

* * *

><p>"Are we really getting into <em>that <em>thing?" Gwaine pointed to the tiny rowing boat tethered to the run-down jetty, looking from it to the ruins in the distance, the expression on his face a cross between disbelief and disgust.

"Of course we are," Arthur said uneasily, also peering at the vessel. It didn't look like it had been used in years, the wood covered in white mould and a small puddle of water swaying gently in the bottom. He tried to reassure himself – the fact that it was still here, even in its state of disrepair, meant that Morgana wasn't – yet. He just hoped it would stay that way.

"Where are the oars?" Gwaine was not convinced. "I've seen carts that will float better than this." Swallowing his apprehension, Arthur gingerly placed one foot into the boat. He drew courage from the fact that it didn't sink, and quickly placed in the other, ignoring the momentary rush of panic as the vessel dipped slightly as he sat down.

"It's an island, Gwaine. By definition you have to cross some body of water to get to it. So, unless you want to swim across …"

He broke off as he felt the boat tip slightly. Gwaine raised an eyebrow.

"Gwaine." Arthur was serious. "Shut up and get in."

"If I drown," Gwaine said, as the boat bobbed dangerously low in the water, "You owe me five rounds of ale when we get back. And two jars of pickled eggs. Or three."

* * *

><p>The thick fog descended on them suddenly without them realising, a blanket that settled over their vision like snow, dulling their senses. It shrouded the ruins that towered around them, making it impossible to see more than two feet in front, and progress impossibly slow.<p>

"Stay on your guard," Arthur cautioned, drawing his sword, "Morgana's forces could be anywhere."

"Oh really?" If Arthur didn't know better, could've sworn that he detected a hint of amusement in the knight's voice. He spun around, lowering his voice.

"This is serious, Gwaine. I won't tolerate any of your joking around – unlike you, I would like to get in and out of here quickly and _alive._" Arthur's voice was tense. "This is an isle of magic – I don't know what warped ideas you have, but I assure you, if Morgana or any of the creatures who live on this island find you, you won't be getting back on that boat."

There was something unnatural about this place, something _wrong. _He didn't want to stay here for any longer than was absolutely crucial.

Gwaine followed behind, subdued. He understood Arthur's unease, something he couldn't put his finger on grating against the back of his mind, setting him slightly on edge. Perhaps now wasn't the best of times to see how far he could push the princess, not when Merlin's life was in the balance.

"Yes, Sire." Somehow, Gwaine still managed to make the title sound like an insult. Merlin had taught him well. "Of course."

* * *

><p>Manoeuvring around this place was like trying to walk blind through a valley of fallen stone – Arthur could've sworn that they'd passed the same lump of ruined tower three times already, no matter which direction they decided to take.<p>

It when Gwaine tripped over the same lump of rock with the same grunted curse that Arthur became aware of exactly what had set him on edge. A low hum, barely there, but loud enough to make the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. The farther they walked, the louder it became, until it manifested into something that sounded vaguely like a –

He froze. "Gwaine, can you hear that?"

There was no reply. Arthur spun around, only to be met with empty air, fog enclosing him on all sides. "Gwaine?"

Still nothing. Silently, Arthur cursed. Of course Gwaine would get himself lost – when it came to wandering off he was almost as bad as Merlin.

He couldn't go back to find him – the fog was so thick, Gwaine could be anywhere, and Morgana could arrive at any minute. Knowing Gwaine, he could take care of himself. Frustrated, he silently reprimanded himself for allowing Gwaine to come at all. If anything happened to him, Arthur wouldn't be able to forgive himself.

Guilt gnawing at the pit of his stomach, he kept walking, sword held aloft and ears trained to hear even the tiniest of movements. He hoped that Gwaine had the common sense to get out whilst he still could.

* * *

><p>It seemed an age before the fog began to thin. Arthur carried on walking, sensing rather than seeing, and finally emerged into the sunlight, able to breathe freely again. He found himself in a courtyard, an expanse of grass with a stone table in the centre, seemingly untouched by time. Blinking, he drew a moist sleeve across his face, wiping the remains of the fog that clung to his vision.<p>

There was something just beside the stone, a blurry shadow that he couldn't quite make out. He took a step towards it, and then blinked again, not quite believing what he was seeing.

A figure stood a couple of metres away, his hand hovering above the stone, looking similarly surprised. Someone who looked a lot like –

"Merlin?"

"Arthur?" Merlin seemed just as shocked to see him as he was. "Arthur, what are you doing here?"

"What do you mean 'what am I doing here'?" Arthur spluttered indignantly, "What about you?" He drew his sword, eyeing the figure warily. "The last time I saw you, you were in Camelot, being tended to by Gaius. How did you get here?" He raised his sword a little higher. "I want the truth this time, Merlin, not any of your half-baked lies."

Merlin's gaze flickered from the sword to Arthur.

"You've got this all wrong." The voice was level, even. It was disconcerting, if he was honest. "But you shouldn't be here. You need to leave."

"Then explain it to me," Arthur said darkly. "I know that you're a sorcerer and that you've been lying to us the entire time. For all I know, you've been working for Morgana the entire time, plotting against Camelot."

"Really?" Merlin snorted in disbelief. "Me, working for Morgana, after all I did –" He broke off suddenly. "If I was working for Morgana, then why would I be here?"

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Morgana is coming to retrieve a weapon hidden on this isle – for all I know, she could have sent you."

Merlin's expression morphed into one of genuine confusion. "There's nothing here, Arthur. I should know."

Arthur searched his eyes, looking for the lie, for the hint of deceit, but he found nothing. Merlin had always been an open book – or so he thought. "Yes, there is. We've received multiple reports of her movements, and her intentions. There's a staff hidden here, one of great power."

Merlin laughed. "There is _nothing_ here."

"There must be!" The words echoed around the empty ruins, reflecting off the stone, a chorus of angry voices demanding answers.

"Would you just trust me for once, Arthur –?"

"Don't ever say that." Arthur's voice was low, dangerous. "How can I ever trust you again, when you chose to practice magic?"

"I didn't choose to."

"I trusted you with my life, Merlin." He lowered his sword, his voice hoarse. "Why did you betray me?"

Merlin rolled his eyes to the sky and ran a hand through his hair, biting back a curse. "To protect you!" he shouted in exasperation. "There's no plot, I swear it. I was just trying to keep you safe!"

That was the worst excuse he'd ever heard. "Don't even try to –"

"Can you hear that?" Something in Merlin's voice made Arthur stop talking, actually take notice. He turned around slowly, years of training kicking in, ears straining to pick up what Merlin could hear.

A low rumbling came from the edge of the fog.

Arthur stiffened, tightening the grip on his sword. "There's something here." He motioned for Merlin to get behind him, the words 'I told you so' hanging unspoken in the air.

Merlin stared after the noise, into the white, eyes wide. "But there can't be," he murmured. "There just _can't _be." He turned his gaze on Arthur, irritation in his eyes. "You shouldn't be here, Arthur – I told you to leave, but you wouldn't. What have you done?"

Before Arthur could answer, there was a sudden, predatory growl that resonated all around them. It was answered by another, and another. They sounded hungry. Arthur made a split second decision – stay and wait to see what manner of creature presented itself, or make the tactical decision and get out whilst they still could.

He decided on the latter – it was too open here, with no source of cover. He didn't fancy their chances of survival, and by the look on his servant's face, neither did Merlin.

"Go on then," Arthur said, casting a sideways glance at the boy. "You've been studying magic. Do something."

Merlin looked at him blankly. "I can't, Arthur, you don't understand – they shouldn't _be _here. Nothing should be here." Merlin seemed completely fixated on that one detail. Arthur could tell that he wasn't going to be any help – and the growls were getting louder. It sounded like there were three - maybe four - waiting for them. For their next meal.

"Oh for goodness sake – Merlin, run." Merlin just stood there, waiting for the creatures, as if unable to convince himself that what he was hearing was real. Arthur grabbed the boy's shoulder, shoving him backwards, away from the noise. "What don't you understand about the word, 'run'?"

He saw their eyes before he actually saw the creatures, harsh yellow glowing dully in the mist.

"Merlin –" he warned.

A snarl ripped through the air, the fog slashed to pieces as beasts that could only be creatures of magic tore through, eyes alight with hunger. Claws scraped on stone, and all thoughts of standing their ground vanished from Arthur's mind.

"What are you waiting for?" he shouted at his gormless manservant. "Do you want to die?"

That seemed to rouse Merlin from his daze. He looked at Arthur in alarm. "But there's nowhere to –"

"Just run!"


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Finally got this chapter finished. And within two weeks! Though, strictly speaking, I shouldn't be on the internet right now... OH WELL, IT'S ALL IN THE NAME OF MERLIN.**

**Thanks for all the reviews and alerts. I really appreciate every single one 8D**

**Drop by and tell me what you think~**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>"Now what?" Arthur asked, sarcasm dripping off every word.<p>

The creatures were everywhere – they were like wolves, in a way, but not like any wolf Arthur had seen before. Monstrous in size, they prowled through the mist as if it was their natural hunting ground, cloaking them from view until it was too late – in fact, they seemed almost made of mist, Arthur's sword slicing through their hide like water, only for it to reform straight after.

It hadn't taken Merlin very long to persuade Arthur that running would be the most effective strategy at keeping them alive. The only one they had.

"If you weren't such an arrogant dollop head, we wouldn't be in this situation," Merlin shot back indignantly, his breaths coming out in short pants.

Flattened against the stonework, Arthur snorted. "You lead us to a dead end and this is somehow _my _fault?"

Merlin didn't even consider the question worthy of an answer. "I think –"

"I didn't realise you could do that."

"No, Arthur, that's just you."

Wiping a trail of blood from his arm, Arthur smirked.

"I think they can only move through the mist," Merlin continued, ignoring Arthur's last comment. "If we can just get away from it, then I think we have a chance."

"There wasn't any in the courtyard," Arthur reminded him, "And yet they were still there."

"That's different – that was the centre of all magic on this isle, where the high priestesses worked and the magic is concentrated. Of course the rules wouldn't apply there." He broke off, suddenly exasperated. "Look, Arthur, I don't understand either, but it doesn't matter. We don't have any other options if you want to get out of here alive."

Before Arthur could even open his mouth to reply, Merlin had darted forwards and back into the open. Arthur was left staring at empty space, and a feeling that Merlin knew more than he was letting on.

* * *

><p>Gwaine slashed at the air, cursing as his sword skittered across a hide of the beast in front of him.<p>

"You're certainly not from Camelot," he groaned, throwing himself to the side as a paw pounded the wall where his head had been moments before. "Do me a favour, and never come to visit?"

The creature responded with a blood-curdling howl.

"Oh great," he wheezed, as three cries answered. He didn't need to look behind him to know that they were already there. "So you wanted your friends to join the party?" He spun his sword in his hand, wincing slightly as the movement tore at newly-opened the wound at his side. "Four on one just doesn't seem fair, you know?"

They stared at him, and he stared back, their panting the only sound in the air. Then something shifted - a seasoned fighter, Gwaine knew what this meant. He took in a deep breath, tightening the grip on his sword. It was futile – he may as well have been wielding a stick for all the use it was, but it was comforting nonetheless.

"Sorry, mate," he breathed.

Then they all rushed him at once, teeth and claws and yellow hunger, and Gwaine roared, rising to meet them.

* * *

><p>Arthur didn't see the glow before it was too late.<p>

Merlin didn't see it at all.

"Merlin!" The cry had left Arthur's throat before he even realised it was there, legs propelling him forwards to desperately try and cover the gap between them even though his mind knew, just _knew, _that he'd be too late.

Merlin turned, eyes wide with surprise. He was facing the wrong way. Danger hit him full in the back, throwing him forwards, then to the side, like a rag doll. He didn't even have time to scream.

Arthur roared as he ran.

The beast placed itself between Prince and servant, blocking the fallen body from view. Merlin lay on the ground, blood pounding in his ears, surprised he could still think straight, let alone see straight. The beast stood over him, so close that Merlin could actually feel the heated breath on his skin, but still the pain he was waiting for didn't come. Somewhere in the back of his mind he could hear Arthur calling – Arthur would be _livid – _but he couldn't seem to move, transfixed by the glow that came from those eyes so filled with hunger.

A glow the colour of magic, the oldest kind.

He lay, motionless, and waited for the creature's next move. It sniffed the air around him, nose nudging the space between them but never quite touching. For a moment it reminded Merlin of the dogs at the castle, when the children would tease them with treats kept hidden out of sight. There was a hint of confusion in those yellow depths.

After a few seconds, the creature stepped backwards, disinterested. Almost as if Merlin wasn't there at all.

The echo of a call flitted through the fog, and with a last perplexed glance at the boy, the beast was gone. Merlin let himself sink back to the floor, placing a shaking hand to his side. The touch confirmed his suspicions.

"This isn't right at all."

He was beginning to understand.

* * *

><p>Gwaine blinked. And blinked again.<p>

They'd gone. Everything was gone – the beasts, the fog. Only silence remained, thick and heavy.

"What is this?" His voice sounded hoarse, uncertain, but it was comforting to find that it _still worked._ Gingerly, he poked himself in the side. "Oh yes," he hissed, as a shooting pain flamed up the side of his stomach. "Definitely still alive."

_Gwaine._

A voice came from behind him, barely there, yet at the same time filling his mind. He spun around. "Who's there?" He reached instinctively for his sword, only to find himself clutching at air.

_Gwaine. _The whispering was everywhere, an ethereal chorus passed from corner to corner. _Sir_ _Gwaine. _A cold, harsh giggle echoed around him, and he turned slowly, eyes darting around the empty space. _Are you lost, Sir Gwaine?_

"Who are you?" Gwaine called gruffly, eyes narrowed. The laughter simply started again, a cruel sound that seemed to come from every direction all at once. He growled, the loss of his sword increasing his feeling of vulnerability tenfold. "Reveal yourself!"

_If that is what you wish._

And suddenly there was a woman in front of him, a cruel smile playing upon lips the colour of blood. Everything about her screamed danger, which was precisely why Gwaine found that he couldn't look away.

She extended a finger, beckoning him closer. "What are you doing in a place like this, Sir Gwaine?"

* * *

><p>"You idiot," Arthur hissed, "You complete idiot."<p>

The solitary building hadn't been very far away - whether it was due to its construction, or something else entirely, the mist was mercifully thin around it, offering the pair the most protection that they could hope to find on this island. What Arthur hadn't counted on, however, was the mist _following them_. In the few minutes between Arthur sighting the ruins and practically throwing Merlin through the remains of what once might have been a doorway, it had surrounded them, closing in on all sides. They were trapped – there was no two ways about it.

Arthur growled at his own stupidity. The creatures in the mist outside growled back.

"I should never have followed you, if you hadn't been such a mindless idiot and actually looked at where you were going, then –"

Merlin had his hands on knees trying to regain some use of his breath. "For goodness sake, Arthur, I'm fine."

Arthur whirled around. "But you shouldn't be fine!"

"_Arthur –"_

"_Shut up Merlin." Arthur's voice was thick. Merlin tried to scramble to his feet but the prince placed a hand to his chest, preventing him from rising. "Don't move." His voice was uncharacteristically soft and filled with such concern that Merlin actually froze for a moment, caught off-guard._

_Arthur sighed. "I need to look at it." Seeing Merlin's expression of confusion, he indicated to where the boy's hand was resting firmly on his side. "The wound. I need to make sure your insides aren't going to spill out and alert our position."_

"_I'm fine." Arthur raised an eyebrow. "It's nothing really."_

_"Very funny, Merlin." _

_"Don't touch me!" Merlin said suddenly, pulling away. __He wasn't fast enough._

_Underneath Merlin's hand, the skin wasn't even bruised, seemingly untouched by the claws that had ripped through it only moments before. Arthur stared at it with such an expression of disbelief that for a moment Merlin wondered whether it might have been easier for the Prince if he had just been lying dead on the floor. Something seemed to shut down inside Arthur, disbelief replaced by a carefully restrained anger. He pulled Merlin off the floor without another word._

"I saw you flung into the _wall_, Merlin, I watched you – and yet you don't even have a wound." Merlin watched him in sullen silence. "I don't have a clue what's going on here, but I get the feeling that you do. Morgana could be here any moment – she could already have the staff, sealing Camelot's destruction – and yet, here we are, surrounded by beasts just waiting to take a chunk out of us. I mean, what are you even doing here? You should still be in Camelot, and yet here you are, and you _won't give me a straight answer._"

"Stop thinking about yourself for once in your life!" Merlin finally snapped. "I thought I knew what was going on, but then you came along. This shouldn't even be about you!" he shouted angrily, running his hands over his face. "Why do you always have to change things?"

Merlin's outburst was enough to cause Arthur to pause momentarily, the question settling uneasily in the air. He eyed his servant warily. "What do you mean?"

"This place, it's reacting to you, Arthur, to what you think!" Merlin's voice was full of a frustration that Arthur had never glimpsed before. "There was nothing on this isle until you said there was – it's the mist, it's an enchantment. It's manifesting into what you believe, changing to suit you!"

He slid down the wall, deflated. The expression on his face made it clear that he _did not _want to be talked to right now and would much rather be left alone.

Arthur threw his sword to the ground in exasperation. He didn't understand anything that was going on here, and he hated it. "What is this place, Merlin?" His voice sounded tired, even to him.

"It is what it is – an isle of magic," Merlin replied, his voice weary. He groaned. "I told you that you should leave," he murmured, almost to himself. He was paler than before. "Why do you never listen?"

"I'm the Prince, Merlin, and you're the servant, in case you've forgotten," Arthur said coolly, sliding down the wall next to him. "It's your job to listen, not mine."

"Stupid prat."

* * *

><p>"It's dangerous to go wandering alone on the Isle at a time like this," she said, blue eyes glinting with malice. "Where's your Prince?" She laughed, a sound with no humour. It fell upon his ears like shattered glass.<p>

"Who are you?" Gwaine took a step backwards, eyes narrowing. "What have you done with Arthur?"

"Oh, he's safe. Both of them are, for now." He found no reassurance in her words. "I'm looking after them."

Involuntarily, Gwaine's eyes darted around them, searching for the figures he hoped were there. The woman seemed to read his mind, following his gaze with amusement. "You won't find them. You really were foolish to come here today."

Her voice was light, teasing, but her eyes were hard, a barely restrained darkness trapped in their depths just waiting to be released. Verging on madness.

"Today is the day of the winter solstice, the one day when the dead walk among the living." Within a few paces she covered the distance between them, leaning in close until their faces were just inches apart. Gwaine held her gaze, unflinching. "It is often hard to tell them apart."

Her blue eyes bore right through him, as if seeing straight into his very soul. For a moment, Gwaine could have sworn they glowed, pulsating ever so faintly with golden light. "You have magic," he breathed.

"Not quite," she whispered, reaching up to touch the side of his face. "I am of magic." She held her hand there for a moment before letting him go, watching him intently as a wide grin spread slowly across her face.

"Are you a betting man, Sir Gwaine? I like making bargains – exchanges, if you will." She giggled coldly, hunger in her eyes. "He is about to die. What would you give me in exchange for his life?"

* * *

><p>"Arthur, are you dead?"<p>

Arthur glanced up in surprise – Merlin stared back, his blue eyes serious. It was slightly unsettling, if he was honest. "What kind of question is that?" Arthur replied gruffly. Merlin's eyes lingered on his for a minute, as if searching for something. He didn't seem to find what he was looking for.

"Nothing." They lapsed back into silence.

Arthur didn't know how much time had gone by. Morgana had probably arrived by now, probably had the staff. She'd probably already left. He shot a sideways glance at his manservant. "Couldn't you just magic us out of here?"

"No." Merlin said shortly.

The silence that stretched out between them was deafening.

* * *

><p>"Why did you choose to study magic?" The mist was starting to curl around the corners of the room, the beasts with it. If there had been any chance of escape, that chance had long since passed. Arthur closed his eyes, resting his head against the cold stone. His sword rendered useless, he honestly didn't know how they were going to get out of this one. He mentally berated himself for letting Gwaine come with him - it was his fault that Gwaine was probably, right now, in the same situation they were, without any help at all. Gwaine shouldn't be part of this mess. "You know it's against the law."<p>

Merlin laughed softly. "I didn't _choose _it, Arthur. I was born with it."

Out of everything Arthur had been expecting to hear, it wasn't that. "Is that even possible?"

"I'm a warlock, not a sorcerer. I didn't have a choice." He sighed. "Do you know how much I hated being different? As a child I didn't know how to control my magic – all I wanted to do was show people what I could do, help them. I didn't realise that magic was to be hidden, that 'normal people' didn't have it. If not for Will, I – "

He broke off.

"I didn't understand. All I knew was that I was different." Merlin paused. "I grew up hating myself."

"_Why were you fighting, Arthur?" Arthur felt his eight-year-old resolve crumble under Uther's disapproving gaze. "It is not fitting behaviour for a prince of your age."_

_Arthur took in a deep breath, his split lip stinging slightly with the movement. "No one would play with me." His voice swelled with outrage. "They say that, because I'm Prince, they can't. They say they never want to play with me." He paused. "I didn't start it, but I won."_

_Uther laughed. "Good boy."_

"_But Father, they won't play with me!" Arthur repeated indignantly, "They play with Morgana!"_

_Uther reached over, patting his son on the shoulder, a rare show of affection. "It's because you'll be King one day, Arthur, and you're special. You'll rule over them one day. When you're King, you can order them to play with you."_

_His father didn't understand. "But I don't want to order them to play with me," the young Arthur whispered morosely, as he was ushered out the door, "I just want them to like me." _

Arthur understood, more than Merlin knew. "But of all places, why come to Camelot?" The mist was starting to thicken now, a haze permeating through the cracks in the stone. The growls were getting louder. "My father could have had you executed the moment you stepped inside the city walls."

"My mother thought Gaius could teach me to control my powers." Merlin laughed, a breathy sound. "It was frustrating, having to hide when I could do so much. She thought he could rein me in, teach me some responsibility." He drew his knees closer to his chest. "He did, and so much more."

"But –" Arthur still wasn't convinced. His sword lay abandoned at his side. "–why did you take a job in the royal household? As my servant?"

Merlin snorted. "I found destiny – or rather, it found me." Sensing Arthur's disbelief, he added, "And, let's be honest, you'd be dead without me."

Arthur looked at him indignantly. "I do not –"

"You're a walking target – it's tiring you know, having to come up with ways to save you so often. And you're so _thick _sometimes."

"Oh really?" Somehow, Arthur didn't think that _Merlin_ was the one to give lectures on intelligent behaviour. "Give me three times when you've 'needed to save me'."

"Within the first year? Drinking the poison because you and your father were too stubborn to believe that _someone _might dare try and target your life; dragging you out of the water when your 'one true love' turned out to be a fairy that tried to drown you in the lake; saving your life after you were bitten by the questing beast – seriously, you have _no idea _how much trouble that caused me." He said each one lightly, but even Arthur could tell how much effort it was taking him to keep his voice steady. "I've always protected you, with my magic. Everything just to save your royal backside."

He dimly became aware of Arthur staring, mouth open slightly in disbelief. "That can't be true. I'd have noticed."

Merlin's silence was answer enough. A sudden thought struck Arthur, something that left him cold, and he struggled to formulate his epiphany into words. "So that time, when you said you were dying…"

Merlin nodded stiffly.

Arthur ran a hand through his hair, horror written all over his face. "Why didn't you tell me?" he finally asked.

"I did." The boy grinned slightly, shrugging. "You wouldn't have believed me."

Even Arthur couldn't deny that. He turned to his servant and looked at him, really _looked _at him, as if seeing him properly for the first time. So much made sense now – all those blank spots in his memory, all those miraculous defeats: it had nothing to do with luck. And yet Merlin had said nothing about it at all, content to let Arthur take all the credit for every single thing he had done, never complaining about being overlooked.

For some reason, Arthur didn't doubt Merlin's story, but there was still one question that remained. How could Merlin live with that, every day?

"Why do you do it, Merlin?"

A low snarl resonated through the room. Merlin lifted up a hand until it was in front of his face – there was no mistaking the yellow tinge it was bathed in. "Because you're destined to be a great king someday, Arthur. And I believe in that." An unreadable expression flitted across his face. "I would've liked to see it."

For some reason, this simple confession cut more than everything else.

"We're not going to die here, Merlin." Arthur stood up abruptly. "We can't have your hard work going to waste, can we?" He sheathed his sword before offering the boy a hand. "Let's be honest, it's not very often you do anything at all."

Merlin stared at it for a moment before his face broke into a reluctant grin. "I never said _you_ were going to die here," he pointed out, "You're too difficult to do anything quietly."

Arthur cleared his throat uncertainly. "And, Merlin, if you need to –" He waved his hand in the air, "– do your thing, then I suggest you do it. Because my sword isn't much use right now."

"My magic?" Merlin blinked. "You're asking me to use my magic?"

"If it'll save our lives," Arthur said shortly.

Merlin let out a short breath. "You're asking me to use my magic." It was just like Arthur to finally accept his magic now, when it was far too late. "You really are an insufferable prat."

"No – I'm a _royal _insufferable prat."


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: I'm sorry that this chapter is so long, but I didn't want to cut it and I hadn't updated in a while so ..**. **Here you go ^^' This was quite hard to write, so I hope it doesn't seem disjointed...**

**All of you readers are lovely, by the way. Thanks for sticking with it for so long!**

**Leave a review to let me know what you think~**

* * *

><p>"On the count of three." Arthur gave him a slight nod. "Are you ready?"<p>

Merlin laughed slightly. "Aren't I always?"

"Merlin, you're late to everything. One."

He shifted his sword.

"Two."

Merlin took a deep breath.

"Three."

Together they plunged into the open air, the beasts around them. Arthur slashed and Merlin offered what little protection he could, but they never stopped running. It would be slightly pretentious to call it a 'plan' – in reality, it was nothing more than the bare bones of one at the very most. Arthur would deter the creatures with his sword, Merlin would cover him, and together they would run.

It was a miracle that it worked as well as it did. They darted out of the ruins, adrenaline coursing through their veins, and pelted it through the mist. The promise of death made them more agile, more deadly, and they met the attacks thrown at them with relative ease. Although, Arthur realised with a hint of relief, it wasn't all down to them. Something had changed – there were fewer creatures patrolling now.

"It's the mist," Merlin panted, as if hearing Arthur's unspoken question. "It's thinned." They found themselves backed against the stonework once more. "That's the way to the boat," Merlin said, pointing past the ruined tower in front of them. "It's the way out."

Arthur disregarded his comment. "I'm not leaving without the staff."

Merlin groaned. "You'd rather go after an imaginary staff than stay alive?"

"If what you say is true, Merlin, and I'm 'controlling this place with my thoughts' –" Arthur didn't quite manage to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, "then, surely there must be a staff here because I say so. It's the object of my quest – after all of this, I'm not leaving without it."

Merlin paused. Even though Arthur didn't seem to believe it, the logic actually made sense. And, if it was the only way to get Arthur off the isle…

"As you wish, _Sire_," he sighed, exasperated, "We'll look for it. But then you've got to leave."

Arthur shot him a smug smile. "You still haven't learnt who gives the orders, have you?"

* * *

><p>Of course Arthur would be right, Merlin thought bitterly, as they rounded the corner only to be overwhelmed by a sudden pulse of magic, Arthur always found a way to be right. The staff hung in the air, suspended as if by an invisible rope, a thick chunk of gnarled wood that looked as if it hadn't been touched for centuries.<p>

"What were you saying about there not being a staff?"

Merlin approached it with less enthusiasm. There was a slight buzzing in the air, a humming in the back of his mind. It set his teeth on edge. "Arthur," he called slowly, "Be careful."

Arthur stopped, hand inches away from grasping the wood. As if suddenly coming to his senses, he took a step backwards, looking almost sheepish as he berated himself for letting his guard down.

"Gaius said that the defensive enchantments around it would be weak, if not gone completely – now is the only time mortals can take it." The way he phrased it was more like a question, as if seeking Merlin's confirmation.

"I've never heard of any such thing," Merlin shook his head, doubt beginning to creep into his thoughts, "But if Gaius said so…"

"Can you hear that?" Arthur said suddenly.

Merlin strained his ears, but found nothing. "No."

Arthur looked around him, as if trying to fathom exactly where the sound was coming from. He drew a blank. "Whispering."

Merlin strained his ears, but all it did was intensify the buzzing, growing more distinct. Almost like voices heard through a closed door, the murmur of a crowd that didn't want to be heard.

"This place has too much old magic running through it," Merlin murmured, eyeing the empty space around them warily, "It doesn't know what to do with it. It's manifesting itself."

This magic seemed familiar, somehow, the magic in the air around them. It pulsated with life and a familiarity that seemed to reach out to him, encouraging him to respond, to speak.

"Don't listen to them," he warned, but his attention wasn't really on Arthur. "Nothing good ever comes from listening to voices inside your head." He knelt down, putting a hand to the ground. After a few seconds, he thought better of it, and put his ear to the ground. He wasn't quite sure what he was waiting for, but it just felt like the right thing to do.

For once, he did what Arthur told him to do. He listened.

He heard himself. It was_ his_ magic mixed up in the darkness of this isle, _his_ magic that permeated the fog and hung in the air all around them. _His_ magic that was reacting to Arthur's thoughts and desires, because that was all that it knew.

This is me, he realised with a feeling of dread, this is all me.

When he'd sacrificed his magic, he'd woken up here, and no matter how hard he tried, he always ended up back at the same place – it didn't matter which path he took, he would always return back to that courtyard. In the end he'd given up any thoughts of escape, a single explanation forming in his mind – he was dead, and this was a scene his magic had constructed from his memories, until he finally passed on. He didn't know how long he sat there, but it seemed like an eternity that he waited for death to finally claim him.

But then Arthur had arrived and turned all his theories upside-down – a living, breathing Arthur who fought and bled and forgave him. Suddenly he could roam the isle, no longer trapped alone. The magic all around them, flowing through the isle, was the magic that _he_ had given up. And as long as Arthur was here, it was still fighting.

But for how much longer, he didn't know.

"It's not right, though," he said quietly, feeling the magic pulsate under his touch. It may be his magic, but it had been manipulated, touched by darkness that had twisted it almost beyond recognition. A darkness that came from that staff. "Arthur, this isn't right."

Arthur didn't respond. "Arthur?" He said sharply, to the Prince's turned back. "Arthur, are you listening to me? It's evil."

Arthur didn't acknowledge the warning. Merlin sighed irritably. "Arthur, you arrogant prat," he hissed, grabbing the Prince by the shoulder, "What don't you understand about the meanings of 'don't touch' and 'dangerous'?"

Arthur shrugged him off violently. "Get off me."

Merlin took a step backwards, eyeing the man warily. "Arthur, what's the matter with you?" There was an odd glaze to the Prince's eyes, something unnatural.

"With this staff, I could save the kingdom." Arthur's gaze was distant, looking straight at Merlin but not seeing him, only the wood of such power behind hi m. "We would never have to fear attack again. We would be so _powerful._"

"What do you mean?" Merlin asked cautiously, "It's magic. You can't wield something like that."

"Camelot is my responsibility. You wouldn't understand."

"Excuse me," Merlin said, unable to keep the edge from his voice, "But did we not cover this back there – you know, when we were breakfast?" Arthur's expression didn't change. "I save Camelot? I sacrifice everything I have in order to protect your kingdom? I think I understand what responsibility means."

"You're just a servant. A servant who's been living a lie. You don't have a clue."

It wasn't the words that shocked him, but the completely detached tone in which Arthur said them. Merlin opened his mouth then closed it again as he searched for something to say. Arthur flashed him a brief look of contempt, then moved towards the staff.

"Arthur!" Merlin shouted angrily, "What is wrong with you? Can't you see this is a trap? Your father sent you here so that you could destroy it, not keep it!"

"You knew about this staff!" Arthur shouted back, "You must have done. But you were trying to make sure I never found it. Are you still working for Morgana?"

"I never – " Merlin broke off, growling. "I sacrificed my magic for you, you idiot. In order to save Camelot, I gave all my magic away, everything I am to make sure that your precious kingdom and everything that I hold dear wasn't destroyed by Morgana!"

Arthur's expression didn't change.

"You didn't try hard enough."

There was an odd flash to the man's eyes, and Merlin knew that this wasn't Arthur. So he decided to take a more direct approach – he ran forwards, cannoning into the Prince's side.

But Arthur's hand closed around the gnarled wood, and Merlin's stomach lurched violently, and the world tipped on its side.

* * *

><p>"Idiot, I didn't –"<p>

Merlin opened his eyes slightly, then shut them again when the world wouldn't stop spinning. Dimly, he was aware that Arthur was talking, but he couldn't quite make out the words.

" – voices were everywhere, inside my head, telling me about how I could finally ensure the kingdom's future. They were worse than you. I just couldn't get rid of them."

"Your voice," Merlin groaned quietly, "is making my head hurt."

He felt Arthur breathe a sigh of relief beside him, which was odd. "You girl." Arthur put an arm around his shoulders, pulling him off the floor. "What's wrong with you?"

Merlin grinned weakly. "It's not me – the world's spinning. I'm trying to get it to stop."

"I could hear voices," Arthur seemed to have got a hold of himself, watching his servant with concerned eyes as he tried haltingly to explain his actions, "They appeared out of nowhere. And I just felt _compelled _to take it, like it was meant for me. I knew that it was dangerous, but the things they said ... I just wanted to believe them."

"It's the staff itself," Merlin said, rubbing his forehead in an attempt to clear it. With a sense of apprehension, he got the feeling that the death he'd been waiting for wasn't as far away as he had thought. "It's the magic in it – there are _souls_ trapped in there, lost ones. I don't know why, or how, but it was them who were calling out to you."

"Couldn't you hear them too?" There was a hint of hope in Arthur's voice.

"No, it was just you," Merlin shrugged, smirking slightly. "But, considering the way I can't seem to get the ground to stop moving, I think it's reacting with my magic. And not in a good way – it's dark, Arthur, something ancient. We can't trust it." He looked pointedly at the item clasped in the Prince's hand.

The Prince unconsciously gripped it tighter, and Merlin wobbled slightly as another wave of nausea rolled over him. "Stop being so stubborn – it's not safe, _Sire_. Didn't you listen to anything I said?"

Arthur looked lost for a moment. "It's a bit hazy," he admitted.

"Just think," Merlin hissed shortly.

It _was_ the magic it held, he realised distantly, as the boy felt his legs buckle and he lost track of the world for a moment. That was making him like this. The darkness in the staff wanted Arthur, wanted power, and would promise it's wielder anything in order to get it.

And eventually it would destroy Arthur, of that he was sure.

There was a blur of red, and Merlin heard Arthur give out a gasp of surprise as a woman's voice cut through his haze, suddenly bringing the world back into focus. The voice was chilling, and one he'd hoped he would never hear again.

"I would do what he says, Arthur Pendragon. He's usually right."

* * *

><p>"But –" Merlin stumbled backwards, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. "– I killed you."<p>

Killed her? Arthur snorted in indignation, barely biting back a 'Merlin, you couldn't kill a roast boar.'

Nimueh merely laughed. "You may have destroyed my body, warlock, but I am the keeper of the isle. Nimueh, the last high priestess of the old religion. I am tethered here, just as you are –" Her lips curved cruelly upwards, "– for now."

She took a step towards them. "I see you've found my staff."

"It isn't yours." Arthur's voice was certain.

"Oh, I beg to differ. It is – all the power of the isle resides in that piece of wood, all that there ever was and ever will be. Every spell ever cast, ever soul ever wronged. Therefore, it is also mine as I am the only one left now." She smirked. "But it never usually appears in a physical form. I have you, Arthur Pendragon, to thank for that."

So Merlin had been right. The witch seemed to read Arthur's thoughts. "Merlin is quite wise, you know, despite his pretence. This whole place is magic, and it is all reacting to you. It knows you, can see inside your thoughts and your beliefs, and is changing the environment to suit you because that is what it thinks it should do." A look passed between her and Merlin, something Arthur couldn't quite understand. "You could say that all it wants to do is serve you."

Arthur still hadn't let go of the staff. "Why me?"

The witch nodded in Merlin's direction. "The isle is overflowing with magic, thanks to the donation from your servant – so much, that the air is saturated with it. Magic so powerful, so attuned to you, that all it can do is obey you. Think of it as a dream – it's your dream, but it's the most dangerous dream you will ever have."

Beside him, Merlin had gone silent. "What do you mean?"

"Why are you here?" Merlin interrupted darkly. Arthur was surprised to see the hate in his servant's eyes – he had never seen Merlin ever look at anyone in such a way before. Nimueh, however, just seemed to find it amusing.

"It is the winter solstice, Merlin, the day when the mortal and spirit world collide. Normally, that means nothing, but here it means that the spirits walk among the living." She paused, her eyes lit up with an unnatural hunger. "After all, you are here, are you not?"

Merlin opened his mouth, but though better of it. Nimueh continued.

"There is a line that exists in this world separating the living from the dead." She swept her hand in front of her. "Most of the time it exists in a form we cannot see, but here it exists as a physical barrier. Today, however, the rules are overturned and those powerful enough to keep their grip on reality - in any way possible - end up here. It's all a matter of luck, really, of fate."

"So what?" The contempt in Arthur's voice was almost painful for Merlin to hear. "I see no one dead here."

Nimueh's mouth curved upwards into a cruel smile. "No, I suppose you don't." Merlin shut his eyes briefly, breathing deeply to try and steady himself. His head was pounding, and Arthur was still in danger. Nimueh was enjoying this, he realised, she was revelling in Arthur's ignorance. Waiting to shatter everything.

"You royals are so tiresome. I should like to kill you, Pendragon. Both of you. I have waited for _so long._" She sighed. "But, alas, I can only take one. Such was the deal that was made."

Arthur felt Merlin stiffen beside him, and there was a sudden flash of gold followed by a thud. Merlin lay as if pinned to the floor, eyes wide, struggling against some invisible force. His eyes grew wider as it became obvious that he was struggling to draw breath. The odd calm that had settled over Arthur broke, replaced by fear and a burning anger towards this stranger.

Instinctively, Arthur ran to the boy, but found himself battling against an equally invisible force. The staff in his hand trembled, reacting to Arthur's anger, his hate. Merlin twitched violently.

"Nimueh," Merlin gasped, "let Arthur go. Your quarrel is with me."

"That's sweet," she drawled, "But you're wrong. I worked with Uther once, in the castle. Before he cast me out, blaming me for his own mistake. Before he vowed to purge the kingdom of my kind."

Merlin grunted in reply. "What are you doing to him?" Arthur shouted, the staff still in his hand. "Leave him alone!"

"If you think you can match me, then I bid you to try," Nimueh goaded, eyes fixed on Arthur's, "But the only outcome is that he dies. For once, this isn't about you, not really. But, then again, that other knight you brought didn't put up much of a fight – it's a pity the legend never matches the reality."

Merlin seemed less distinct somehow, blurred at the edges. It terrified Arthur, if he was honest. "What did you do to Gwaine?" he growled, the wood feeling foreign in his hand. Merlin made an odd sort of noise that tugged at the corner of Arthur's heart, and on impulse he swung the wood at the witch, his own blade abandoned on the grass beside him. The blade was of little use now.

There was an odd moment when a buzzing seemed to fill his ears, disorientating him for a second, then the wood came alight, shooting a shockwave towards the woman who did nothing to stop it. Dimly, Arthur was aware that he was doing the unthinkable and using a magical instrument, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He just had such _power._

He wasn't quite sure what followed, but Merlin groaned, trying to scramble to his feet but failing. He pitched over, breathing heavily. Arthur reached for his sword only to find that there was only the staff, but strangely it felt _right _in his hands, and somehow he just couldn't bring himself to relinquish it.

"He is dying, Arthur." Nimueh's voice was light, indifferent. As if to prove her point, Merlin flickered. She seemed unaffected by Arthur's attacks, but let him carry on all the same, a strange glint to her eye. As if this was what she wanted.

This was all her doing. "I will kill you," Arthur growled. The staff glowed again.

"Why do you never listen, you prat?" Merlin hissed, but Arthur was too lost in his own anger to even acknowledge him.

Nimueh held out a hand, and Arthur found himself unable to move. He glared at her, but she smiled coolly back in response.

"No need for you to finish him off too quickly. I have a personal matter with Merlin that I wish to settle – surely you can understand that?"

"He would never –" Arthur choked out, " – hurt anyone."

"You have no idea what he's done," Nimueh breathed, "But then again, you know nothing about him. Shall I tell you a secret?" She leaned in closer, her mouth almost brushing his ear. "Merlin is a creature of the old religion. He's like me – _a monster."_

The look that flitted across Arthur's face was one Merlin never wanted to see again.

"Of course, he would never tell you. He felt it was his duty to protect Camelot with all he had – but you don't even know what he did, do you?" She smirked, thoroughly enjoying both of their discomfort. "Magic courses through his veins as blood does yours – in order to release the hold Morgana had on Camelot, he gave it back to the earth. He gave up his life force, his _soul, _all for the sake of Camelot."

Arthur didn't want to hear what was coming next.

"This island is an in-between of worlds for those whose magic has not yet allowed them to move on." She stopped. "But you still don't realise, do you? Merlin is already dead. Without magic, he cannot exist. This Merlin is just a vision, his lifespan here determined by the length of time it takes for the earth to finally accept his magic – it has nothing to do with me. That staff you hold so dear just serves to shorten the time he has left. Stay and watch if you wish. It is only a matter of time."

"Not human?" Arthur's voice was devoid of emotion. He turned to the boy who stared back, uncertain. "What is it that I've been fighting beside for the past few hours, then? Are you just some spell, a copy with Merlin's appearance, his memories?"

"I'm a warlock, the most powerful one the world has ever seen." Merlin smiled weakly. "This is me, really. Magic. I break all the rules."

"But you're _not human._" Arthur's hand was shaking, ever so slightly.

"For goodness sake, Arthur, are we really starting this again?" Merlin said irritably, tired of this. "Yes, my magic is my soul. And, no, I didn't realise this until recently. But, hey, I got rid of that, so if you hang around long enough you'll get to see me disappear. You won't have to live with what I am, and neither will I. Does that make you happier?"

"Happy?" Arthur rounded on him, the look in his eyes so lost, so desperate, that for a moment he reminded Merlin of Uther. "Merlin, how am I supposed to be happy?" He didn't want to come undone in front of this witch, but Merlin was _agreeing _with her, and the boy didn't even seem to care. "This – this is too much. Dammit, Merlin, when did you decide to neglect to tell me the fact that you were _dying?"_

"This island is _me, _trying to protect you, like I always have." Merlin just sounded tired, his strength disappearing just as he was. "That staff contains everything this isle ever was – all the sacrifice, the turmoil, the death. It's just as tainted as _she _is. What is left of me is still trying to protect you from all of that. Whenever you use that _thing_, my magic is trying to stop you from losing yourself, but it's using ... me ... up. You're meant to restore magic to the land, Arthur, but not in this way."

"But – " _How can you still be trying to protect me?_

"This quest you were sent on was never a quest to obtain a weapon." Nimueh's voice cut through like ice. "Merlin was right, again. The whole quest was a lie – in truth, you were sent here by people who hoped you could save his magic. Instead, you've stumbled upon a powerful weapon that simply speeds up his fate."

Arthur dropped the staff as if it burned, his eyes searching for Merlin's. Looking at his servant was like looking through clouded glass.

"You have a choice to make, Arthur Pendragon." Nimueh watched them with amusement. "I like to make things interesting. You can have the staff, if you so desire."

She extended her hand. "Imagine, Pendragon, a staff powerful enough to vanquish all foes foolish enough to challenge Camelot. A staff borne from your own desire to protect your kingdom. Or," she extended her other hand, "You can choose to save Merlin, a servant made of the magic you so hate, even though his very existence goes against everything you have ever believed in."

Arthur had gone completely still, and Merlin could almost see every single possible outcome flash past those eyes, every single advantage and disadvantage. Every single thing it would cost him. And Merlin understood, he really did. Nothing meant more to Arthur than his kingdom.

"Can you overcome your hatred of magic, though?" She spoke softly, more to herself than anyone else. "Will it be enough for you to choose the one who has protected you for so long? Or does your kingdom come first, power taking priority?"

Arthur didn't have time for her. "No more of your tricks."

"Destiny is waiting. It's been stretched for a long time, you know. If you choose to save the warlock, who knows what will happen?" She smiled. "Things will be as they were, but for how long? How long before Morgana launches another attack that you can't stop, all because you gave up the power?"

Arthur felt penned in. There was no room to manoeuvre. "There must be another way." He was surprised by how sure his voice sounded.

"There is another clause to this little game we're playing," Nimueh conceded, as if as an afterthought, "Two lives stepped onto this island, and only two can step off. That is the way that it works. Your knight is still here, somewhere – who would you take back, and who would you abandon here, for the rest of time?"

"Great." Arthur groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. The kingdom, Merlin or Gwaine. He could only choose one, or none of them would leave. He knew he shouldn't have brought Gwaine along.

"Arthur, don't take the staff. _Please._" It was hard to distinguish the difference between where Merlin ended and the rest of the world began – Arthur found himself having to blink rapidly to try and keep his servant in focus. "It will only bring the kingdom heartbreak in the future, I just know it. _Trust me._"

He wasn't asking to be saved. Arthur knew that, and for some reason it just made him angry. "What if I proposed a compromise?" he said suddenly.

Merlin mumbled something – probably in dissent – but Arthur's eyes were only on the witch in front of him. This was the only chance he had of doing things on his terms – something his father had always told him was the key part to any competent battle strategy. And this was a battleground, there was no doubt about that.

"Oh, I do like the sound of that." There was a dangerous gleam to her eyes that made Arthur begin to think that maybe this wasn't such a good idea, but he was desperate and a knight of Camelot – he wouldn't go back on his word. "Let us bargain, young Pendragon."

"Don't do it Arthur," Merlin warned urgently, "She'll trick you, take something you didn't want her to take. She did it to me."

"I'm not that stupid," Arthur said shortly.

"She took my mother!" Merlin cried, desperate that Arthur understand, "And then she took Gaius – all I'd wanted was save you, you stupid prat!"

"What am I supposed to do then?" Arthur shouted back, frustration in his voice. "You're my friend, Merlin, the only one I ever truly had, and you've risked your life _so _many times for me. How can I let you just _die_?"

Merlin looked at him, just _looked_. He didn't need to speak. "I'm sorry," he said softly, "You weren't meant to watch."

Slowly he began to fade.

"_Merlin?" Lancelot breathed, "Merlin, come on, don't go now." There was an eerie silence in the room, and nothing broke it. "Merlin?"_

Arthur blinked, and Merlin was gone. Arthur was left alone.


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: Faster update this week! (I don't have a beta, so any mistakes I made feel free to point out, as I tend to miss them when re-reading at one in the morning...)**

**Enjoy~~**

* * *

><p>"He cannot exist without his magic," Nimueh smirked. "Pity – all of that talent, wasted."<p>

The sound of blood rushing in Arthur's ears was deafening, engulfing him. The space where Merlin had been moments before remained empty. The more Arthur stared, the harder it was to remember how to breathe. "Bring him back."

"Why?" There was no mistaking the amusement in her voice.

"Bring him _back._"

"My, my, Arthur, you are rather attached, aren't you? He's just a servant, you know, he can be easily replaced. What would your father say?"

"Don't you _dare_ mention my father," Arthur spat, reaching for a sword that wasn't there. A growl emanated from his throat.

"Now now," Nimueh scolded, "If he means that much to you, why do you not bargain for him? A life for a life? Or something else, perhaps, more worthy?"

"I cannot make that bargain," Arthur murmured through gritted teeth. He wanted to, more than anything, but he just _couldn't –_ Merlin had begged him not to. Just this once, Arthur would listen to him.

"No matter," Nimueh sighed, as the ground began to shake, "It is of little consequence to me." She placed a hand to the bridge of her nose, as if nursing a particularly annoying headache, and sighed. "The warlock has doomed us all regardless."

"You said you would let us go!" Arthur shouted, trying to keep his footing. "You swore it!"

"This is not me," Nimueh replied. "There's an imbalance of magic. This whole island is going to be erased from history, just as the warlock is. In fact, I'd be surprised if any magic survives – the world is trying to accommodate for its loss." Her eyes glinted with malice. "I would say it could be quite … explosive."

The staff that lay abandoned was glowing with a dull red light, cracks littering its gnarled surface. With a snap of her fingers, Nimueh suddenly held it in her hands, fingers running up and down the wood as if checking for something.

"It's a shame to let something so powerful go to waste, but this is the way it must be. _B__íd þes níwe!_"

There was a resounding crack as the wood broke in two, red light pouring out of its core and dissipating into the ground. Somehow – Arthur didn't know how – it got the ground stopped shaking.

"So you tricked me," he said, his voice low. "I could never have the staff."

"No," she laughed, "You could have possessed it and its power. Although I don't think that physician of yours realised the truth in the tale he spun for you – no mortal record of it has been found for centuries." She studied him for a moment. "The staff is this island, remember, and right now, this island is dying. If not for your servant, you could have been the most powerful ruler in the land."

"I don't want power like that."

"How noble. Shall I tell you a secret?" She leaned in closer, her eyes fixed on Arthur's. "A mortal like you would not have been able to use it without surrendering to its power – eventually your soul would join the others bound to it for all eternity, those who craved power for their own ends. It's surprising you managed to resist it as much as you did. Of course," she mused, "the warlock did have a lot to do with that. His morality was most annoying."

Arthur narrowed his eyes.

She carried on, oblivious. "Perhaps the warlock could have wielded it, but we both know he would never have consented to such a thing. Pity. He was always a coward when it came to power."

"He was not a coward," Arthur growled. "He gave his life for the kingdom. That is the highest form of courage."

"He is a fool." She giggled. "He didn't realise the consequences of his actions. Your destinies are no longer tied together, and so history has no need for 'Merlin'. Slowly, he will be erased from your memories – everything that he has done, everything that he said he would do, none of it will exist. History will rewrite itself and Merlin will become no more than a shadow, an idea. Everything that he did, you will have done. All the recognition goes to the Pendragons, just the way you like it."

Surely what she was saying could not be true? "You lie," Arthur hissed, "I could never forget Merlin."

"It isn't forgetting if he never existed in the first place." Nimueh looked at him in something that almost resembled pity, if she were capable of such an emotion. "You once went to Ealdor, to fight for its freedom. Tell me, why did you go to such a small village that wasn't even within your own borders?"

"Because a woman came begging for help," Arthur replied almost instantly, "And I didn't deny her, because she required justice."

"Oh really? You didn't know her?" There was something in the way she said it that made Arthur suddenly less sure of his answer, of the facts he was sure were true. Dread began stirring in the pit of his stomach.

"I would help anyone who deserved it."

"That woman was Merlin's mother," she said slowly, enjoying the confusion and panic that flitted across Arthur's face as he realised the truth in her words, "And that was Merlin's village. He left, and you followed because you feared he would never return. You believed the village would perish, and if it would've done, if not for Merlin. Do you remember the enchanted wind? He blamed it on his best friend, and you were ready to kill the both of them, until the wrongly accused took an arrow for you."

She sighed. "Merlin was always rather deceitful."

Arthur remembered the hopelessness he felt watching the villagers train, remembered the battle, but the more he kept trying to picture Merlin, the harder it was. It was like trying to catch smoke – the moment he tried to capture it, the memory would filter through his fingers, Merlin with it. Breathing heavily, Arthur tried to keep calm.

"I will let you go, Arthur Pendragon." Nimueh watched him with amusement as he grappled with his failing memory. "But I warn you, this will not end well. I predict you have a few minutes, maybe, until this island falls apart."

She waved her hand, and Arthur felt the familiar weight of his sword at his side once more. Immediately his hand was at its hilt, and he stepped forwards with the intent of making this witch pay for all that she'd done.

Merlin was dead, and thanks to her he hadn't even been allowed time to grieve.

"The warlock was right – you don't listen, do you?" Hatred bubbled through his veins that she even dare mention Merlin, but he found himself once again unable to move. "I am already dead, and have been for a number of years – your mortal blade cannot touch me. The warlock saw to that."

Arthur felt a heavy weight against his back, and suddenly his legs were moving of their own accord, propelling him back the way he had come, towards the ruined tower and the boat that lay beyond. Straining, he tried to regain control of his limbs, to stop, but it was futile.

"I am the keeper of this isle, I am bound to its fate. I suggest you find your knight and run back to your castle as fast as you can." He was pushed roughly over the stone chunks embedded in the ground that signalled the edge of the courtyard, feet flying over the uneven ground.

Gwaine was still alive, somewhere, the island was about to be erased from existence and Merlin was dead. Try as he might, Arthur couldn't regain that burning hatred and anger he had a moment ago – it was almost as if the magic had numbed him, cocooning him from the danger of his own emotions. Nimueh had taken everything from him, every semblance of normality.

He just felt hollow.

Her voice rang ominously in his ears, even as her enchantment faded and his legs buckled slightly as he found himself covering the remaining distance on adrenaline alone. "I don't think you'll get very far."

* * *

><p>"You took your time."<p>

Gwaine was sprawled on the grass, sword in hand, looking for all the world as if he were trying to catch a tan rather than trying to survive in the middle of a hostile enchanted island. Arthur quickly assessed the man's state – Gwaine's shirt was ripped, with a nasty gash down his arm that hadn't been there before, but he was in one piece. Relief flooded through Arthur, and the knight responded with a tired grin. "Going somewhere?"

In fact, the scene was so normal, so _Gwaine,_ that Arthur's chest constricted painfully as he realised that nothing was normal any more. "Where have you been?" Arthur snapped, moving past the man.

Gwaine held up a hand, ticking each event off a finger. "Well, let's see. After you decided to wander off and leave me to fend for myself, I spent a large portion of my time running for my life from creatures that didn't want to die; I was cornered by five of said undead wolves that decided I would make a great meal; I met a witch with a gambling addiction who told me that she was going to kill us all. She was gorgeous though," he added, as an afterthought.

"What did she ask you?" Arthur asked urgently. He knew how Gwaine couldn't resist a challenge, and if Nimueh had managed to bargain for their lives in exchange for something else…

"She asked me what I would exchange for your life." Gwaine had picked up on the sudden change in Arthur's voice, and no longer had the bravado that he had moments earlier.

"What did you bargain, Gwaine?" Arthur's tone was deathly serious.

"I couldn't resist her challenge," Gwaine said slowly, conscious that something was wrong here, something that he didn't know.

"What did you bargain?" Arthur didn't mean for it to sound aggressive, but Gwaine was never renowned for his good judgement. He could have thrown anything into the bargain. "This is important, if you –"

"Nothing."

Arthur stopped – that was not the answer he had been expecting. "You turned down the chance to bet?" Somehow he found that hard to believe.

Gwaine laughed. "Oh, I made a bet with her. But I bet that you would escape alive without my intervention – if you made it out, then she would let us leave the island unharmed." He shrugged. "And you did, so here we are."

Arthur found himself staring at his knight with new respect – somehow, Gwaine had done what Arthur couldn't. Nimueh would have been bound by the bargain, and that was why she didn't harm him – she physically couldn't, obliged to let the both leave the island.

He placed a hand on the man's shoulder, a small smile on his face. "Thank you, Gwaine."

Gwaine grinned. "That's three tankards of ale you owe me."

Arthur shook his head in disbelief. "Keep telling yourself that," he said, sheathing his sword, "But we need to leave now, if you want to live to drink it. The island is going to be wiped from the face of the earth, thanks to that witch. And if we're not careful, we'll be gone with it."

Gwaine looked around. "Where's Merlin?"

Arthur stared at him for incomprehension for a moment, then his features darkened. "Merlin is dead."

"What?" The colour had drained from Gwaine's face. "But you – you were meant to save him."

"So you did know." The words were dripping with anger at being the only one kept in the dark. "And you neglected to tell me."

"You were hardly in the mood to listen," Gwaine muttered.

"The witch told me everything." Arthur turned away. "He's being erased from history. Soon he won't even have existed."

Gwaine made an odd sort of noise, and suddenly Arthur felt the heavy weight of steel against his chest. Gwaine's steel. He looked up in surprise and found himself staring into the fiery depths of Gwaine's eyes, an anger and frustration there that Arthur understood well.

"You would let that happen?" the knight growled, pressing his blade a little harder, "After everything that he's done for you?"

"I never asked for it," He made no effort to raise his own sword. Perhaps it was because he trusted that Gwaine would stop himself from going too far, perhaps it was because part of him felt he deserved this. Anger, hatred – anything was better than this hollow feeling he had inside.

"He believed in you, Arthur. We all did." Gwaine's voice shook slightly. "And now you're saying that he's being _erased from history?"_

"We won't remember him," Arthur said, surprised at how calm his voice sounded. He took a small step backwards, conscious of Gwaine's blade at his chest. "And I've already started to forget." He paused. "Perhaps he put his faith in the wrong person."

A look of complete hopelessness flitted across Gwaine's face. "I can't forget him." It wasn't a statement, more of a plea – a desperate call for help, pleading with Arthur to tell him this wasn't true. That his first, most loyal friend, was going to disappear from his memory as if he never existed.

Where was that going to leave him? Where was that going to leave all of them?

Gwaine certainly had a lot more to tell Arthur, but he was interrupted by an odd sense of suction, as if the world was being compressed, stopping his words. Arthur's ears popped. Both men turned back towards where they had come from – a ball of light had gathered in the centre, bathing the area in an eerie glow. It did not look promising.

"We need to leave now."

The ball of light exploded. Without another word both men started running as fast as they could, hurtling towards the tiny jetty that lay just past the ruins.

"We bring you to save Merlin," Gwaine panted, with what little breath he could spare, "and instead you blow up the island. How did you manage to confuse one for the other?"

"It wasn't me, it was Merlin. He did this." Arthur smiled grimly. "He always liked to be difficult."

There was no way that they were going to make it, Arthur could see that. Gwaine obviously realised too, because something in his demeanour changed – the look on his face was pure determination as he made the final push, pouring all the energy he could find into getting his legs to carry him forwards. Arthur matched his pace, but the blast was at their heels, hungry for their souls.

They dived for the boat just as the shockwave swallowed them up.

* * *

><p>Arthur was plunged into darkness.<p>

_Listen. _Nimueh's voice came to him through the emptiness, cold and piercing. _Can you hear destiny breaking?_

And, worryingly, Arthur could. He could hear it screaming out in anger as it was dealt a blow it wasn't sure if it could heal, feel its pain as if it were his own.

Which, he supposed, it was.

_We all disappear eventually, no matter how much we try to cling on. How does it feel to be wiped from existence?_

And then she spoke no more.

* * *

><p><em>Arthur? Arthur, where are you?<em>

A familiar voice filtered through the darkness, one Arthur thought he would never hear again.

_Arthur, you're coming, right?_

Arthur's heart clenched as he struggled to form a reply, but he couldn't seem to get one to pass his lips. Whether it was the terror or something else, Merlin sounded younger than Arthur ever remembered him sounding – so completely lost and alone.

_Arthur?_

The voice was getting smaller, less sure. It went quiet, and the darkness was suffocating. Was this what being wiped from existence felt like? Strangely, Arthur felt quite calm – perhaps that was what death did to you, gave you the ability to look back on your life with a cool head and evaluate everything that you ever did.

He could see everything with complete clarity: the first time he kissed Gwen, behind closed doors when they were young and awkward. The first and only time his father told him he was worth more than the whole kingdom, when they both feared they would never see each other again. Morgana's first betrayal. Morgana's second betrayal. The battle, when Camelot would have been lost if not for … if not for …

_Arthur, I'm scared. _

It was the way Merlin said it that broke Arthur. After everything, Arthur was still forgetting him – Merlin was still being wiped from his memory. He caught glimpses of blue; smudges of red; the hint of a grin that was far too wide to be genuine, yet there was no question that it was. The feeling of a profound loyalty and friendship that ran far deeper than either party realised.

"I'm sorry, Merlin," he breathed, defeated. "I'm so sorry."

Would Gwaine stay, if they got back? Arthur knew that the knight blamed him for Merlin's death, for not treating him better, for not accepting his magic and appreciating Merlin for who he really was. Gwaine never really wanted to be a knight, and Merlin had been the only thing keeping him there.

At best, Gwaine would leave. At worst …

Arthur rubbed a hand over his face. Didn't Gwaine understand that he wasn't the only one who was torn apart? "Just tell me what I should _do._"

He wasn't expecting an answer. He certainly wasn't expecting the answer he got.

_Concentrate._

Merlin's voice rang through the air, as clear as day – the Merlin that Arthur remembered, glimpsed through the gaping holes in his memory.

"Concentrate? You're being wiped from existence," Arthur pointed out, "And, I assume, so am I."

_And if you don't listen to me, it will stay that way, you prat._

Definitely Merlin, Arthur confirmed. For once, he did what his servant asked and fell silent.

_You need to concentrate on me, on everything we ever did together. It's like I'm drifting apart – I need you to keep me together in your mind. It'll buy me a bit of time. You can still stop this._

And so, Arthur did, visualising every single event that ever featured Merlin, every single emotion. The contempt at their first meeting, when he was an arrogant brat and Merlin was a boy lacking in self-preservation. The dread when the servant that had only served him for a few weeks fell to the floor, cup of poison in his hand. Fighting the dragon. The sleeping sickness. Morgana's immortal army.

The mind-numbing fear when Merlin died right in front of his eyes.

_You're a stubborn prat, so I suppose it never occurred to you, but the solution is simple._

The darkness was absolute, but Merlin sounded _so close._

_To get the earth to release my magic, all you ever needed to do was ask._

Arthur shut his eyes. He understood.

His hand went to his sword, fist closing reassuringly around its hilt. Merlin's voice was fading, but sounded older somehow, wiser.

_I gave you Excalibur to protect the kingdom, Arthur. You don't need any staff of power, only to trust in what you have and what you will become. _There was a chuckle, one full of warmth._ It will light your way._

Arthur opened his eyes, only to shut them again as they were assaulted by some bright light emanating from the sword's blade. He was confined to the darkness no longer.

"Thank you, Merlin," Arthur breathed.

He peeled his lids apart slowly, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the light. It didn't do much, he conceded, as he could only see a foot or so in front of him, but it meant that he didn't feel so suffocated. Something glinted out of the corner of his eye, and he whirled around, hope sparking in his heart. The hope quickly gave way to hatred.

"Why are you still here?" he hissed, sword pointed at figure's throat. They made no move to stop him.

"We are all fading," Nimueh said, her voice tired, "Even me." It was true – she didn't seem solid, somehow.

"You have done so much wrong, witch," Arthur murmured, adopting the tone he used when talking to the condemned, cool and indifferent. She acknowledged his accusation.

"That may be," she replied, "But so has your father. He would slay us all."

"I am Arthur, Crown Prince of Camelot," Arthur announced, his voice hard, "And I am destined to unite the lands, or so they say. I will not make the same mistakes my father did. But –"

He pointed his sword at her throat, "– you have taken something that doesn't belong to you." With a flick of his wrist, he flung his sword into the ground, the blade sinking into the soil.

"I, Arthur Pendragon, _command_ you to return Merlin's magic!"

There was a rush of wind as _something_ reacted to his request, and Arthur's next words were lost.

"Please," he murmured, so low no one ever heard it, "Please."

There was a gold tint to the air; the gale so strong that Arthur found himself shutting his eyes to avoid getting blinded. Squinting, he could just make out Nimueh watching him with a genuine smile on her face. "This was a test of sorts, Arthur Pendragon, of your character and your loyalty. Do not forget it."

The noise became deafening, the wind making it hard to breathe.

"You two are very interesting, you know."


	22. Chapter 22

**I'm so sorry it's been so long! I've had to cut this off earlier than I wanted, but I needed to get it out to you because I feel so bad... I won't be able to update for a while, but hopefully this will go some way to making it just a bit better**...

**THANKS FOR STICKING WITH ME GUYS.**

**You're great! I love all your reviews :)**

**Enjoy~**

* * *

><p>Arthur could hear the sound of the water. He opened his eyes.<p>

"Okay, that was weird."

They were back on the bank, the ruins of the isle just visible over the vast expanse of grey waves. The mist was gone, and Gwaine was standing at the edge of the bank with a frown on his face, a hand kneading the back of his head. "In fact, that is going top of the list of the weirdest things I have ever experienced. And believe me, I have been through some strange things."

Scowling, he turned his back on the remains of the boat bobbing innocently in front of them. "I have never had a night like that," he mumbled, "not even that time when I drank just ale for three days straight. And that was nasty."

Arthur pressed a hand to his forehead, the events of the isle all crashing back in one head splitting mess.

Merlin was a sorcerer. Merlin was dead. Merlin never existed. Neither of them existed. Merlin was still here. They both –

Arthur wasn't quite sure how to complete that list.

"You did something, didn't you?" It was more of a statement than a question. "You finally got over your noble prejudice and did the _right _thing for a change. That's why we're not dust right now."

Arthur's gaze never left the water. "I … did something," he murmured, "Whether it was the right thing or not depends on your point of view."

"Mate, it doesn't bother me as long as we're still here," Gwaine said, running his hands through his hair, "You think about things too much. That's why you're no fun. You need to live a little – take me, for instance."

Arthur, wrenched out of his daze, looked at Gwaine in a mixture of confusion and amusement. Did the man have the mind of sieve, or just lack a sense of urgency?

"I protect the kingdom by day and drink by night. I mean, where's the sense in all work and no play? Regrets – sure, but so does every other man. Secrets? Naturally."

Arthur could see where this was going.

"But, the people who know my secrets and stand by my side regardless, those are the ones I truly call my friends. And I will _always _stand by them."

_So what are you going to do now, Arthur?_

"Just, tell me this." Gwaine shifted his attention to his soaked boots, pulling off both boot and sock in one smooth motion. It was disconcerting just how much water could be contained in one dirty rag. "Will Merlin be there when we get back?"

Truth be told, Arthur wasn't sure himself – he didn't have a clue how this magic worked, especially when his servant was involved.

He shrugged. "It would be our luck, wouldn't it?"

* * *

><p>" – neglected to tell me about this!"<p>

There was a bang. Merlin stirred feebly, trying to open his eyes, but his lids were as heavy as lead. He felt like he'd been trampled by a griffin three times over.

" – his decision –" The speaker was cut off by an angry voice that effortlessly rose louder than any other present. Arthur, Merlin realised distantly. Arthur was here.

" – hiding it from me, in Camelot, under my nose –"

Arthur knew, Merlin remembered. The warmth at hearing Arthur's voice slowly disappeared, replaced by roaring emptiness as fragments of reality began to seep back into his consciousness. Arthur was angry – at him, his magic.

At the mere thought, his magic began to stir, desperate to heal, to protect its owner in any way it could. Merlin gasped, gritting his teeth together – it burned.

"– lied, if my father heard about this –"

There was an odd noise, a loud mash of things that Merlin couldn't quite understand. He swallowed, instantly regretting it as a grating pain tore across his throat.

"– had a right, he is my servant and my –"

"Sire, he is my _boy. _I wouldn't see him perish!"

There was an anger in that old voice that Merlin had never heard before, a bitterness that he couldn't decipher in his groggy state.

A door slammed, suddenly, and the room fell silent once again.

* * *

><p>Merlin dreamt of a place far away from reality – the very depths of the lake that led to Avalon. Freya welcomed him with open arms, her hair tinted the colour of algae as it billowed behind her in the stillness of the water. The water rushed into his lungs, his eyes, suffocating him, but somehow it didn't matter – he didn't need to breathe.<p>

He fell into her arms and wouldn't let go.

_You shouldn't be down here, Merlin. You know that._

"But I don't want to leave," he mumbled, oddly calm, "There is no destiny any more."

_You can't run away – your task is not yet complete._

"I'm not running," he protested, "I've done all I can." Had he not saved Camelot once again, from the depths of evil? He'd given up his _magic_, and not asked for anything in return – why couldn't he, just this once, come first and be left alone? Why did Arthur always have to matter more?

_You cannot set yourself apart from him._

"But there is no destiny," he breathed into her hair, "I've broken everything to make sure that Camelot survived. Arthur has Gwen, and his kingdom. I have no place there anymore."

Gently, Freya removed herself from his embrace, taking his face in her hands. Her skin was clammy, cold, and Merlin began to shiver as the water surged around them.

_Merlin, if that were true, I would never let you leave, you know that. But I cannot be that selfish. _

It was getting harder to breathe.

_Your destiny was never meant to lead you here._

Taking one last lingering look, she pushed him away, as the ice-cold water rushed to fill his airways. He gasped, coughing as the water flooded into his lungs.

_Arthur sends his regards._

She reached out with her magic – the magic of the lake – as Merlin inhaled another breath full of water. His own magic, parted for so long, rose up to meet her call – it rushed from everywhere, water-borne, rushing back to its master with every breath he took. He wasn't drowning – he was being born again.

There was a resounding click that resonated through the worlds, and destiny began to fall back into place as she threw him towards the surface.

* * *

><p>He wasn't alone.<p>

That first coherent thought was swiftly eclipsed by a bone-deep ache that hurried to make itself known, weighing down his entire being until he was once again left scrabbling at the edge of reality.

_I've got to hold on._

Summoning all of his willpower, he hauled himself up and over, concentrating on that odd echoing sound slowly filtering through his daze.

"My father is suspicious," the voice sighed, "And angry. At Gaius, mainly. That the quest failed, and the people are scared." There was a small laugh, hollow and humourless. "He doesn't even know the half of it."

The voice was familiar, reassuringly so. _Arthur, _his memories whispered, _Arthur is here._

"Gaius has told me everything. Well," Arthur paused, "Not everything, I guess. You always did have a knack of hiding things that you didn't want others to see. I'm still not sure if I believe it, and I certainly don't think I like it.

Everyone lied. Even my father." There was a sigh. "You know, he means for me to keep this new servant permanently. I can't do that – he actually gets enjoyment from _polishing the silverware. _Even you don't like that. Seriously, he seems like the kind of chap who'll strangle me with a candlestick and silver polish as I sleep. He thought 'dollop-head' was a type of window cleaner."

There was something in Arthur's voice that Merlin couldn't place – some kind of edge, not usually present. Something that made his words sound more forced than they should be, that made his voice shake, ever so slightly.

"– I order you to get better." Arthur had slipped into that ever-so annoying 'do what I say because I'm a royal ass' voice. A tone he only ever reserved for when the situation was dire, and all his other defences had been blown down.

_Arthur was worried._

Merlin began to panic – something was wrong, and Arthur needed him. Focussing all his energy on opening his eyes, he gritted his teeth, straining against the heavy fatigue that paralysed him. Nothing obeyed him.

"I mean it, Merlin. We need to talk, so don't try and worm your way out of it this time."

There was an odd catch to the voice, so foreign and _lost_, that Merlin couldn't stand it – he wanted to shout, scream at Arthur that he was alive and he was magic and there was nothing either of them could do, shake him until they both forgot everything. He fought the darkness, and was rewarded with a momentary glimpse of a smudge of gold and grey.

As if sensing his desperation, the darkness shifted, less heavy. A warmth enveloped his hand, as calloused fingers intertwined loosely with his own, uncertain.

Arthur's voice was barely more than a whisper. "You told me I could save you, so for once just do what you're told, you stubborn fool."

With a jolt, Merlin realised that Arthur was crying.

"Where's … the fun in …that?" His tongue felt foreign in his mouth as he managed to force the words past his lips. The weak joke was barely audible even in the silence of the room, but Arthur's head snapped up as if Merlin had screamed into his ear.

"Merlin?" The Prince dropped Merlin's hand as if it were red hot, standing up so quickly he nearly fell backwards over the chair that he'd been sitting in only moments before. "You - you idiot!" His cheeks glowed an indignant pink as his tongue instinctively fell back to the insults he was so familiar with. "How long were you just _pretending_ to be asleep?"

Peering blearily through half open eyes, Merlin could just make out the look of embarrassment on Arthur's face. "You have… emotions," he murmured in mock amazement, "…congratulations."

The relief on Arthur's face, no matter how hard he tried to hide it, was unmistakable.

Smiling slightly, Merlin sank back into the mattress. His magic thrummed just beneath his skin, excitable and fervent as it raced with new vigour to try and fix its host it had been parted from for so long. Closing his eyes, Merlin shivered.

A coolness covered his brow, only to be removed as quickly as it had appeared. "You're burning up." Merlin groaned quietly.

_Thanks, Arthur, I really hadn't noticed. Once again, your knowledge of the world astounds me._

"Arthur, I ..." he muttered, before spluttering as a foul-smelling sludge somehow found its way into his airway. Coughing, he managed to keep his eyes open just long enough to find Arthur watching him, an unreadable expression on his face. "…thank you."

Arthur's halting reply followed him down as the depths of darkness reclaimed him. "... same to you."

* * *

><p>The next time Merlin resurfaced, Arthur was gone.<p>

Gwen was always there though, fussing and teary, pride shining in her eyes as she once again fondly scolded Merlin for scaring them half to death and going into battle when he wasn't properly trained.

"But Arthur can do it, so I figured it couldn't be that hard."

He received an exasperated smile in return, before she steered the conversation towards the latest development in Gwaine's after-dark escapades in the tavern.

" – and then Mary – you know, the one who's just moved here from a village to the north – says that she heard someone say something about druids, and all of a sudden a man is ranting at her that this kingdom is wrong and magic shouldn't be persecuted – drunken, of course – and a full-scale fight breaks out – worse than the normal ones."

Merlin tried to keep his face straight. "And where does Gwaine come into this?"

" – I'll have you know I wasn't even there that day. I was … studying."

Gwaine leant against the doorframe, a lazy smile on his face. Merlin couldn't help a grin spreading across his in return. "Gwaine, I didn't realise you could read!"

"Shush, you," Gwaine warned, stabbing a finger at the air, "Your brain is addled with sleep. Anything you say can be written off as delirium, or drugs."

"Oh really?"

Gwen sighed, shaking her head as she stood up. "Shall I leave you gentlemen to squabble amongst yourselves?" She patted Merlin's hand affectionately as she turned to leave, squeezing it lightly. "I'll let Arthur know."

"Oh, and Lancelot said he had something to talk to you about," Gwaine called after her, a wicked smile on his face. "It sounded really interesting! He said it couldn't wait!"

The door slammed shut behind her.

"You gave us quite a scare," Gwaine said softly.

"Yeah, sorry about that," Merlin grinned sheepishly, uncertain. "You know me – here to liven things up."

There was silence. Merlin fidgeted uncertainly – Gwaine was uncharacteristically serious, his brow furrowed as if contemplating something particularly important in a very un-Gwaine way.

_How much did he know?_

"So, Merlin."

Gwaine perched on the end of the bed, a grin on his face. "Let's talk magic."

* * *

><p>"I do not tolerate weakness."<p>

Uther stood by the window of the council chambers, tall and imposing, his voice as brittle as the glass he looked through. Arthur strode in uncertainly, the atmosphere in the room suffocating.

"Father, I –"

"Your servant, Arthur." Uther did not look around. "I hear that you have been seen _visiting _him – such open displays of affection are completely out of the question. You are much too attached."

"He was dying, and I visited him _once, _a few days ago_: _that hardly constitutes as –"

"He is a _servant," _Uther repeated, "And not even a particularly competent one. I should have got rid of him years ago." He paused. "I forbid you to see him again. If he dies, so be it. It is time for you to learn your place, and he his."

Arthur's jaw hardened. "Is that all, Father?" There was no warmth to his voice.

"I have a new task for your knights." Uther motioned for Arthur to join him. Slowly, Arthur complied. "Look at all those people down there – each one living their own life, interacting with whom they choose. Tell me, that one –" He pointed to a woman with long, flyaway hair, laughing as she exchanged bread with an old man in the square. She reminded Arthur of Gwen, slightly. "Is she a sorcerer – yes or no?"

"What?" Arthur had not been expecting that. Uther pointed to another person, then another. "Or him? Or that child?"

There was no mistaking the madness in his eyes.

"Shortly, I will give the announcement for a new law to be brought to Camelot. Every single person will be tested for magic – every woman, man, child." His eyes flashed dangerously. "Even the members of this court."

_Merlin._

Arthur didn't know how to respond, his mind thrown into turmoil. What did his father know? Why now?

_What should he do about Merlin?_

"And you propose that my men lead this hunt?" Arthur asked slowly.

Uther nodded. "It is your job to round up all the citizens of this kingdom – no one is exempt. And if they show the slightest sign of magic –" He gestured to square, an odd look on his face. "The fires will burn till morning."

Arthur's chest tightened.

"The witch finders have their methods." He sighed, almost as if the memory was too hard to bear. "Regrettably, the most _effective _methods were destroyed after the Great Purge – mainly under Gaius' instruction – but still some remain. They were … unstable."

He could hear their screams even now, begging for their lives, for their children's lives, in shrill voices that followed him even when he closed his eyes.

"A great many people died – even those whose innocence could not be contested. Perhaps, it was thought, the devices were better left buried."

He could see Igraine's eyes as she took her final breath, and the depths of Morgana's despair as she turned her back on all she ever knew.

Magic had ruined his kingdom.

"But you kept some anyway," Arthur said numbly, "Just in case."

If the items were forged by witch-hunters –

A chill ran down his back. He'd never taken any joy in watching the executions his father had instructed him to observe, regardless of whether the victims were magical or otherwise.

The thought of hundreds of people needlessly killed for the sake of 'purging the kingdom' disgusted him.

"Surely you're not serious."

Uther turned on his son, eyes blazing. "Magic is a plague on our land, Arthur – we must rid the kingdom of its evil before we all perish."

"But you said that these 'methods' were unstable – you could be condemning hundreds of innocent people to their deaths!"

"But I could also be ridding the kingdom of hundreds of evil users of magic," Uther countered, his voice rising.

"But what if they weren't evil?" Arthur shouted in frustration, "What if they were just going about their lives, but they just _happened _to have magic? You could be murdering half of Cam –"

"All sorcerers are evil!" Uther spat, "It is in the very nature of the craft. You can't just _happen _to have magic. You've seen it with your own eyes – look at what they did to Morgana, to Ig –"

"What if they were _protecting_ Camelot?" Arthur yelled – then instantly regretted it. One look at his father's face told him that he had overstepped the mark.

"What do you mean, 'protect' it?" Each word dripped with venomous suspicion. "When has a sorcerer ever done anything other than for his own gain?"

Doubt began fidgeting in the depths of Arthur's mind.

"I did not raise you to be like this. Perhaps you have been bewitched yourself?" Uther moved closer, peering into his son's eyes with such intensity that Arthur felt uncomfortable.

He took a steadying breath. "I merely mean," he began, reigning in his indignation, "that there must be some sorcerers who are not completely evil. Did Gaius not study magic before?"

"Gaius swore he would never touch magic again," Uther said abruptly.

Arthur could see the hole in his father's plan even before the man himself could. "And yet he will be tested too?"

A flicker of uncertainty flitted across Uther's gaze. "There are people who say Gaius is supporting the sorcerers – some even say he is one himself, practicing on the people he heals."

"Surely you don't believe that," Arthur laughed uneasily. "Gaius practically raised me – I trust him more than most of the other people in the kingdom. When has he ever shown you anything other than loyalty?"

Uther didn't appear to hear him. "Can you imagine, a sorcerer living so close to the king? Someone who could worm their way into the heart of Camelot?"

Arthur understood far more than his father realised.

"There _is_ a sorcerer in Camelot, one so powerful that the druids take their orders from him. One who goes by the name of Emrys – he lives within our walls, eats our food, and all the while plots for our downfall. I have no other option other than to find him and kill him – and to do that, I must wage war on magic, once again. And this time I will prevail."

"You believe that Gaius is a sorcerer," Arthur murmured incredulously, "and you wish to see him dead."

"I feel no happiness at the thought," Uther hissed defensively, "But I cannot turn a blind eye any more. What kind of example did it set sending you off on a quest only to return empty handed? The people are getting restless, and the sorcerer lives among them."

"It is not Gaius' fault that the people are uneasy," Arthur said slowly. "To act like this to the man who has stood by you through everything, it's not right –"

"Who are you to lecture me on what's right?" Uther roared, "You know nothing about what sorcerers have done to this kingdom, how long I have strived to uphold its dignity when _they_ have done nothing but try and raze it to the ground!"

"But –"

"Magic nearly destroyed our kingdom, Arthur, and I must take every measure I can to stop it from striking again. If that means stamping out every hint of magic, then so be it."

"Even if it means the death of your only friend?" Arthur's voice was almost unrecognisable. Uther's resolve, to his credit, seemed to crumble slightly under the disgust of his son's gaze. He turned away, not meeting his son's eyes.

"If Gaius is dealing with sorcerers, then there is nothing I can do."

Uther's words echoed in Arthur's head as he silently left the room without another word.


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: Sorry it's been so long! And, I also realise I haven't got round to replying to my reviews - seriously, I'm sorry, I've been really busy, but thank you for each and every one of them. **

**Only one more chapter to go after this (I think) - we're coming close to the end of the story! Thanks to everyone who's stuck with it for this long - reviews for these last two chapters would really make my day as they're some of the last ones this story will ever get.**

**Enjoy~**

* * *

><p>"Where are you going?"<p>

Merlin paused in the doorway, freezing on reflex as the barked question signalled the presence of an very disgruntled Gaius. He spun around slowly – he could feel the man's accusing glare from the other side of the room.

"It's morning," he stated matter-of-factly.

The eyebrow went up. "Yes, Merlin," Gaius said dryly, "I am perfectly aware of that. Though, usually sleep _precedes_ the morning routine – did Gwaine actually go home last night, or is he still here somewhere, collapsed under this mess?"

Merlin's eyes darted around the room sheepishly – it was true that it had taken a good chunk of the night to fully explain the situation of his magic to Gwaine, and another good couple of hours until the knight had got over the novelty of flying furniture.

He didn't quite remember when the ale arrived, but it must've been sometime in between getting the table stuck in the ceiling timbers, and dying Gwaine's eyebrows purple.

"He's gone," Merlin mumbled apologetically. Then, as an afterthought he added, "Sorry. I'll fix it."

Gaius smiled grimly. "Yes, you will." He fixed the boy with a disapproving stare. "And may I take this time to remind you of your responsibility – just because other people now know about your gift, it does not give you the licence to abuse your powers in this way."

A brief nod from Merlin.

"If I have to separate you from that reckless knight, Gwaine, then I will do." Gaius had adopted the scolding tone reserved only for when Merlin had _really _annoyed him. "And if you're planning to sneak off this morning to play some pranks on the rest of the poor souls in this castle, then I have something to tell you –"

"I'm off to wake up Arthur," Merlin interrupted hastily, "You know, my job?"

Gaius looked slightly taken aback. "Already?"

The smile slipped ever-so-slightly from Merlin's face. "You know how grumpy he gets in the morning – he could sleep through a full-scale invasion, let alone the 'call of the dawn'. And you do not want a grumpy Arthur prowling round the corridor all day, believe me."

His mentor fixed him with a calculating look. "Are you sure you're ready?"

The resolve that had filled Merlin after the positive response his magic had received from Gwaine began slowly trickling away, drip by drip, as his mentor faced him. "Yes," he said indignantly, bringing the table crashing back down from the rafters with a flick of his wrist, "Look – as good as new."

"Yes, _thank_ _you_, Merlin," Gaius sighed irritably, "But you know that's not what I meant."

The boy ran a hand through his hair, avoiding his mentor's eyes. "It's been a week, Gaius," he said softly, "Arthur's made his decision."

"Merlin – "

"I know him, Gaius, I know what this silence means – oh, I know he won't kill me, regardless of what I've done, but I have been lying to him, and he hates that. Especially when he's been betrayed so many times before by those close to him." He shot the old man a small smile, answering the first question. "I'll never be ready, but there's _so much_ I need to say."

* * *

><p>"You need to leave."<p>

That was it – there were no greetings, no 'oh Merlin, you're better', or even 'Merlin, you're a sorcerer', just those four cold words.

"You haven't slept," Merlin pointed out, rather unnecessarily. Arthur was sitting at his desk, chin resting on his hands, and, judging from the dark circles under his eyes, he'd been in that same position all night. "It's called beauty sleep for a reason, you know."

The Prince's voice was deadpan, the words spoken without so much as a glance in Merlin's direction. "I said, you need to leave."

"When have I ever done what you said?" The words came out harsh enough for a flicker of emotion to register across Arthur's face.

"When have I ever given you reason to lie to me?"

There it was, the first blow. All the words Merlin had planned to say, all the carefully constructed arguments about magic and choices and destiny, suddenly drained away. This wasn't a battle to save their friendship – that had been broken the day Merlin had sacrificed his magic, and then clumsily patched back together when Arthur had willingly gone to save him – rather, it was a battle to test where they stood, to see whether their old ways could be salvaged.

"Arthur," Merlin began slowly, his hands held up in surrender, "I'm sorry. Could we just –"

"No." Arthur's words hit him like a wall, hard and unfeeling. "You need to get out of here, you and Gaius. I never want to see either of you again."

"Why?" The question was laced with a burning anger, the likes of which Arthur hadn't seen in his servant before. "Why should I, after everything I've done, just leave – because you don't know what to do with me? Because it would be easier for me to just disappear than face up to the facts?"

"The fact that you're a sorcerer?"

"I'm a warlock, you prat!" Merlin shouted in frustration, "And, correct me if I'm wrong, but we've already had this conversation!"

"Yes, I have," Arthur muttered, "But I didn't realise the 'real' Merlin was dead, and I was talking to his spirit."

"Then kill me!" Merlin cried angrily, "Execute me like your father would! I'm a monster, aren't I? Not even human? If I'm not your 'friend' and I 'can't be trusted', then just do it."

"Is that what you want?" Arthur's voice was still emotionless. "Because I saved you – you and your _magic _– under the impression that you wanted to live."

Then came the final blow.

"Maybe I shouldn't have bothered."

Merlin swallowed, hard. He had come here with the intention of reasoning with the Prince – appealing to the fair and just king that he would be, the friend that he was. Telling him that he needed to protect him, keep him beside him.

This man sitting in front of him was a shadow of the friend he once had.

"Leave, Merlin," Arthur sighed. He sounded exhausted. "Take Gaius and go somewhere far away, where this kingdom can't touch you."

"Leave Gaius out of this," Merlin snapped, eyes blazing. "When has he ever been anything but a mentor and comfort to you? He's old – surely you can find it in your heart, _sire, _to leave him alone."

"Look, it's not about – "

"No, Arthur." Merlin's voice was thick with emotion. "You can't just turn your back on me and pretend nothing ever happened. Not this time." His fists trembled at his side. "I am a warlock. I have always had magic. And I have always hidden it, and I have always protected you."

"I know." The words were so quiet, Merlin didn't even notice Arthur had spoken. He continued, everything he'd ever wanted to say falling off his tongue in a rant he couldn't stop.

"So, no, you royal ass, I will not 'get out of here'. I am one of the last creatures of the old religion, and it will take more than a polite request from the 'future king of Albion' to get me to abandon everything and just leave. Just think, you stupid clotpole, I could have killed you any time I wanted – but no, instead I protected you every time one of _my kind _tried to overthrow the kingdom, or you, or your father."

Arthur stayed motionless.

"If your father's prejudice has blinded you so much that you can't see what _I've _done for you, Arthur, then perhaps destiny should have packed up years ago. Because I am your _friend, _and I would die for you, you prat. In fact," he paused, almost in amusement, "I almost did."

And that was when Arthur slammed his hands into the edge of the table.

"This is the problem!" His voice was shaking. "You and your stupid, selfless attitude." He took a deep breath, trying to regain control. "When were you planning to tell me, Merlin? When you died, were you just planning to let Gaius inform me that you'd contracted some incurable disease? Bandits? A wild beast?"

He stood up so suddenly Merlin took a step backwards. "What would he have said when I asked to see the body, and there wasn't one to see?"

"I wanted to protect you, Arthur," Merlin said quietly. Suddenly, this reason didn't have the weight to it that it used to. "But it wasn't just about you, not this time. I had the chance to save the kingdom – if it killed me in the process, then that was the way it had to be."

"You – you're so –" Arthur broke off, kneading his temples. "You idiot. How on earth did someone like you manage to keep your magic a secret for so long?"

Merlin grinned, cautiously. "Everyone else was just really stupid?"

Arthur groaned.

Slowly, it seemed as if their friendship was coming back together, little by little.

"So," Merlin began, "About that whole exile idea – "

"You're still leaving."

"What?" Merlin cried in outrage, "What do you mean –"

"Merlin, my father is testing the whole kingdom for magic – every single citizen." Arthur sounded exhausted – this, combined with how he'd manage to get Merlin safely away – was what had kept him up all night. "He's using some witch-hunter artefact he saved from the Great Purge. It _kills _people with magic … and even those without."

Suddenly, everything clicked into place. Arthur had, indeed, reached a conclusion – magic did not necessarily make a person evil. He felt personally responsible for the welfare of every single one of his citizens, and his father's proposition that he would potentially massacre hundreds of innocent people – magical or otherwise – made him sick to his stomach. It was morally wrong, yet Arthur couldn't see a way of stopping it.

Every single one of those deaths would be on his shoulders.

When Merlin finally turned to his Prince, he was met by a look that silently begged him to understand.

"Please, Merlin," Arthur's voice had gone uncharacteristically soft, "For once, do what I tell you. Take Gaius, and go somewhere that my father can't find you."

But this was still Merlin he was talking to, magic or not. There was never any question about what he would do.

"So what's the plan?"

Arthur's eyes narrowed – he knew that 'innocent' tone. "Have you not been listening? The plan, _Mer_lin, is that you take Gaius and leave here, whilst I persuade my father to change his mind and forget this whole thing."

Merlin raised an eyebrow. "And is that likely?"

"Well," Arthur began indignantly, "I –" He stopped, glaring. "Well, if you have any other ideas, please tell me, I'd _love_ to hear them."

Merlin supressed a smirk, shrugging. "Well, Sire, I don't know, your tactics seems so very well thought out and superior to anything I could come up with – although, it could take a very long time, and if your father isn't in the listening mood, then – "

"_Mer_lin."

"It's a good thing that I've got a plan, then, isn't it?"

Arthur made an odd sound – some sort of strangled snort. "Since when have your plans ever worked?"

"Since the first time I saved your arrogant life."

That brought reality swinging back round again. There was no denying the statement now, not in light of everything that had passed between them. Arthur sighed. "Let's hear it."

Merlin grinned from ear to ear, and, reluctantly, Arthur felt his own face tug in response. It was so familiar, so _normal, _that –

"Wait." He just couldn't do it – didn't know if he could do _this. _The look of relief fell from Merlin's face, and Arthur felt a twinge of guilt, but he just couldn't help it. Suddenly, everything felt strained, somehow, their exchange – as if he was just playing the part, copying something that once was. The painful reminder that everything was different now.

"Arthur," Merlin said quietly, fixing him with a long, sincere look. There was hurt in those blue eyes as well, that despite everything, they were still broken. "I can only say sorry so many times."

"I know."

"And, come on, it's not like I'm the only one who's messed up, have I?"

It was a gentle nudge, a cross between a weak joke and a restrained anger, but its truth felt like a slap in the face.

"I know," Arthur repeated again, almost irritably, "Look, that wasn't what I was going to say."

The eyebrow went up again – Arthur would _have _to have a word with Gaius about what he was teaching Merlin. "I was going to ask if this plan involved any … magic … and what my – er – role would be in this in relation to this … magic."

The question was hesitant and, Merlin knew, Arthur's way of taking a step towards actively accepting his magic. The word 'sorry' simply didn't feature in his vocabulary.

"Stupid prat."

"Excuse me?"

"I said, you don't need to worry about that," Merlin corrected quickly, "I've got a nice, safe job for you. Being pretentious and waving your sword in people's faces, that kind of thing. No magic for you at all."

Arthur nodded, as if he'd known that would be the answer all along.

"And, Arthur?"

Arthur's head snapped up.

"I have not, and would not, use magic to make you do things against your wishes." Merlin was using that serious voice again, that wise one that came out rarely, but always at the moment that made the most difference. The one that allowed Arthur a glimpse of something that he couldn't quite put his finger on, but knew was important. "I have only ever protected you, and will go on protecting you." He shrugged. "That's what my magic is for, really. Or so I'm told."

Arthur had no reply.

* * *

><p>"It is nice to see you back here, young one. I was not sure that I would see you again."<p>

Merlin smiled as the voice came out of the darkness, accompanied by the familiar rush of air as the dragon neatly folded its wings away, settling heavily in the wet grass. "Neither did I."

The reunion was much calmer than the reunion with Arthur. All the anger and secrets had already been argued, accepted, and left behind; an understanding passing between the two that was, perhaps, deeper now than it had been before. For a relationship that was formed on trust but littered with secrets, theirs functioned exceptionally well.

"It would have been lonely without you."

Merlin grinned. "Nice to know I would've been missed."

The dragon chuckled. "You are my kin in more ways than just the connection between dragon and master, warlock, as you now understand."

"A creature of the old religion," the boy murmured, running a hand through his hair, "I'm still not sure how I feel about that." He shot an accusatory glance at the beast. "You could have told me."

"There are some things that cannot be said until the time is right, as you know." Kilgharrah cocked his head slightly, his gaze flickering over Merlin as if searching for something important that he knew was there. "And some things that will always be, no matter how much you wish them to change or struggle against them." He took a step backwards, apparently satisfied. "You've shown courage beyond your years, young warlock, and I commend you. You have grown, and your destiny has grown with you. You have done well, Merlin."

"Well, it's not _all _sorted just yet." Merlin smiled apologetically, shifting from foot to foot, Arthur's indignant shout of 'you're going to do _what?_' still ringing in his ears. "There's one more thing I need to clear up. About your fire … what're its properties exactly?"

* * *

><p>It had been a long time since Merlin had made the long trip down to the underground cavern that had once been the prison for Kilgharrah, a place he had visited more times in those first few years in Camelot than he cared to remember. It seemed empty without the Great Dragon, the chain that used to keep the creature restrained for so long lying accusingly on the edge of the central platform of rock – a reminder of all the mistakes Merlin had made.<p>

Although, he had never been this far into the cavern before. And he had certainly never brought the Crown Prince in with him.

"So, let me get this straight – you've been here before?"

In the darkness, Arthur couldn't make out Merlin's face, and for that the boy was glad. Arthur wasn't going to be pleased with him when he found out this particular truth he had neglected to inform him of.

"Yes," Merlin said brightly, shrugging his shoulders, "I made regular visits."

Their footsteps echoed off the cavernous walls, the passage winding further and further downwards. Of course Uther would have kept such awful items buried down here, away from the rest of the world but always accessible, just in case. In fact, Merlin had a strong suspicion that the manacles that had confined the dragon had been an item not unlike the one they were searching for right now.

"Oh great," Arthur said sarcastically, "Not only are you a sorcerer, but you regularly consort with convicted criminals. The best kind of company."

"Not convicted criminals," Merlin answered lightly, disappearing rather quickly behind the next bend, "just trapped dragons. Well, one in particular. The last one." His voice came floating back towards Arthur as the prince stopped suddenly, trying to process this new information. "But he's not here anymore, so don't worry."

"You went down here…" Arthur spoke slowly, not quite believing what he was hearing, "... to visit the dragon that my father imprisoned. For a nice friendly chat." Within a few strides he was back in step with his manservant. "Did you really feel so starved of intellectual company that you came down here to talk to a _dragon?" _

Merlin snorted. "After listening to your witless comments every single day, any change in conversation was a _good_ change in conversation."

Despite himself, Arthur grinned. "We don't have very many intellectual conversations, Merlin, because you never know when to shut up."

"Actually, he was quite frustrating," Merlin admitted after a moment, "Could never give me a straight answer."

Somehow, Arthur couldn't really imagine a small, bumbling Merlin surviving an encounter with that savage beast that attacked Camelot so brutally those years ago, much less holding a conversation. And how did the boy sneak off so often without him noticing?

"I just don't see how why you would seek counsel from that beast – the same one that I killed." Something in the silence that followed his comment suggested that things may not quite be how they seemed.

Before he could query it, however, Merlin intervened. "It should be around here somewhere, if what you've told me is correct," he interrupted, conveniently changing the subject. They'd reached a much smaller chamber – almost an alcove of sorts, not much larger than Arthur's wardrobe. It was dark – much darker than the rest of the cave, somehow – and the rock glinted slightly in the light thrown by their torches.

Arthur moved in front of the warlock, their previous conversation forgotten. "My father said that the manacles were located in a small chamber deep in the depths of the caves below the castle, where a great beast once resided. He didn't expect anyone to know that a dragon had been imprisoned in the kingdom at all, let alone its whereabouts." He advanced as far as he could into the alcove, brandishing the lit torch in front of his face. "I couldn't ask him anything more in-depth than that without him getting suspicious."

Merlin hung back. At first glance there was nothing there but stone, but the warlock could feel its presence – a chill that settled at the bottom of his stomach. It was an echo of the absolute despair he felt when he'd been separated from his magic, and he had no desire to experience that again.

"Here!" Arthur's fingers scrabbled at the stone, before pulling out a small leather box, black like the stone and covered in dust. Still Merlin hung back, unable to get himself to move any closer to the object that made his blood run cold.

Putting down his torch, Arthur examined the lock. It was obviously much newer than the box itself and completely intact – something he confirmed after wrestling with it for a couple of minutes to no avail.

"Let me." Before Arthur could say anything, Merlin's eyes had already flashed the colour of gold and the lock fell to the floor.

Arthur remained silent.

"Open it then," Merlin prompted gently, aware that Arthur knowing about his magic did not equal Arthur feeling comfortable with his magic, but feeling that it was about time he got the Prince used to it all the same.

Slowly, Arthur removed the lid. Inside was a pair of manacles that looked remarkably ordinary – except, when Arthur took them out and held them up to the light of Merlin's torch, they were covered in the most intricate pattern of runes, almost invisible. Most people would think they were decoration, simply ornamental, but Merlin knew better.

The runes promised eternal darkness to all those who had magical energy. The motto of the witch-hunters, transferred to an actual object capable of making that wish reality.

"Take them," Arthur said, replacing the lid and thrusting the box at his servant, "That's my part of the plan done. You said you had a way of destroying them."

"I can't touch it," Merlin apologised, backing away with his hands in the air, "I'm magic, you see? I'd probably die," he added in a way of explanation.

Arthur paused, before retracting his hand in a kind of acceptance. "But you can destroy them?"

"Not me personally," Merlin said sheepishly, "But, yes."

And then Merlin's torch also went out, leaving them in total darkness.

"Great," Arthur said irritably from somewhere to Merlin's right, "Just great. So tell me, _Mer_lin, how are we supposed to find out way out now?"

Merlin thought about his options – they could try and stumble their way up the passageways, hoping they didn't fall to their deaths, or he could –

After hiding his magic for so long, it was as if Merlin sometimes forgot he had it.

"I can do something," he said softly.

Arthur's voice came gruffly out of the darkness. "Magic?"

Merlin was glad he couldn't see Arthur's face. "Yes. But it would get us out of here in one piece."

The silence was almost deafening.

"Alright then."

Smiling slightly, Merlin whispered something into the darkness. Another flash of gold, and a ball of light appeared in his palm, gently bathing the surroundings in a blue-tinged glow.

He looked up to find Arthur staring at him with an odd expression on his face.

"What?"

Arthur pointed at the ball bobbing slightly in his servant's hand. "I remember that." Merlin just looked at him quizzically. "In the caves, years ago, when I was trapped in the darkness by a witch, that – that _light _– appeared."

Merlin groaned. "Ah, yes. Gaius told me about that. I wasn't entirely conscious at the time."

Arthur's eyes were still fixated on that light. "It was you," he murmured, "It was you, that entire time."

Merlin shrugged, before turning around to retrace the path they had just taken. "I said I've always protected you."

Arthur stared into the empty space, the new information taking a while to sink into his mind for the second time in the past few minutes. Merlin had been guiding him, even then – that light signified something warm, something hopeful, with the promise of safety. At the time, even with his hatred of magic, he had felt that it was protecting him. And, passively, it was.

If there was any magic that seemed to match Merlin completely, that was it.

He shook himself, before hurrying to catch up with the retreating servant. "And you said you _weren't conscious?"_


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: I know it's been absolutely months, and I never meant to leave it this long... but I finally just had to complete this fic - it's the least I could do for all of your reviews and favourites and everything. So, finally, here it is. The last chapter. And I am really, reeeeally sorry it took this long. But now, it's finally done. **

**Thank you so much for sticking with this story the whole way. It was my first fic, and the response I've had is overwhelming. Thank you so so much.**

**Enjoy, and please review, one last time?**

* * *

><p>"How much further do we have to go?"<p>

Merlin smothered a smile, subtly spurring his horse on faster. "Not much further!" he called brightly, breaking into a canter, "And besides, you need the exercise!"

A groan came from behind him. "If we ride any more then we'll be over the border!"

And Arthur said it was _Merlin _who did all the moaning.

The whine came again. "Is this your 'master plan'? Get ambushed and never return to Camelot because we're _enslaved by the enemy?'_

"Alright, alright." Merlin stopped abruptly, the glimpse of a clearing visible through the edge of the trees. "We can walk from here." He swung himself down and started striding towards the clearing, leaving the prince watching him in indignation. Arthur followed slowly, reluctantly placing the box containing the manacles underneath his cloak. It seemed heavier, somehow, than before.

"_Mer_lin!" His voice was filled with the authority of a Prince that wanted answers. Once upon a time, that voice would have sent Merlin scurrying back to him – a sarcastic Merlin, but submissive all the same. The fact that the boy didn't seem to bat an eyelid now showed how much things had changed.

Arthur stopped. "As your Prince, _Mer_lin," he called, the hard look in his eyes challenging the boy to keep walking, "I command you to tell me where we're going."

Merlin didn't respond until a gauntlet hit him squarely in the back of the head.

"What?" He clutched belatedly at the tender spot, eyes searching blankly as if waking from a daze. "Oh, Arthur." The boy smiled apologetically, running a hand through his hair. "I was just … somewhere else. Did you say something?"

Arthur growled. Merlin got the message. "The only way to stop your father's plan is to destroy the manacles, right?"

Arthur nodded, slowly. "It's the only option I can think of."

"And the problem is that it's too strong to be destroyed – at least not by normal means."

"I know that, _Mer_lin," Arthur said irritably, "You don't need to repeat it. I guess you've got some powerful 'magic thing' to destroy it instead?"

"Not quite."

Merlin turned his head to the night sky, surveying the stars as if searching for something. "From what I gather, this thing sucks the magic out of its victim, killing them in the process – so, in my case, trying to use magic on it would _not_ end very well. The only thing powerful enough to destroy it completely is dragon fire."

Arthur didn't like where this was heading. "But we don't have a dragon, do we?" He stepped forwards until he was level with his servant, apprehension evident in his voice. "I killed the last one."

Merlin shifted nervously, not quite meeting Arthur's eyes. "Well, actually, it's not quite as dead as you think it is."

"What?" Arthur's shout of indignation echoed around the empty space. "What do you mean – ?"

"Look, do you want me to do this or not?" Merlin interrupted impatiently. "This is the only way to save all those people's lives. You're just going to have to shut up and trust me." Arthur looked furious – livid, in fact, and Merlin got the feeling he was very close to overstepping the line. "Sire," he added quickly, "I meant, you're just going to have to shut up and trust me, _sire."_

The boy strained his head towards the sky. The voice that came out moments later was not his own – it was much older, and weighted with some heavy power that sent a shiver down Arthur's spine.

"_Ic ábannan unc, fýrdraca,__ætstæl úre cnósl!" _

In the gold flash that followed his words, Arthur got a glimpse of the power that Merlin truly had, power that he had never imagined someone like Merlin could ever possess. Merlin stood, majestic and certain, so at ease with this display that Arthur began to wonder how this confident being and the clumsy servant that served him back at the castle could ever be the same person.

If he was honest, it scared him, seeing what Merlin could do. But a Prince never feels fear, especially not due to a servant, so he quickly shut it away, beneath everything else he had ever buried in his heart. This was _Merlin_, he quickly reminded himself, as the boy turned to him, a hint of anxiety in his smile. Stupid, self-sacrificing Merlin, who liked nothing more than to laze around the castle grounds when it was sunny and hated going hunting because the 'poor animals had never done anything to him'. The idiot.

"What – I – just –_" _Arthur spluttered for a moment, seemingly lost for words. Merlin let him collect his thoughts, smirking to himself as Arthur floundered around – it wasn't often the Prince was short of something to say, and he intended to make the most of it.

Arthur let out a long, controlled breath. "What was that?" he asked through gritted teeth.

Merlin paused, trying to think of the best way of breaking this particular news to the Prince without sending the man off the deep end.

"There's something else I forgot to tell you," he began cautiously, "About me." There was no easy way to say this. He took a deep breath. "I am a … Dragonlord."

He looked up to find Arthur staring at him with a rather unimpressed expression. "A what?"

"A Dragonlord. The last Dragonlord. Remember when the dragon was attacking the kingdom – " he broke off, realising that reminding Arthur of that particular incident would not be particular beneficial in relation to the rest of the night, " – well, we needed to find a Dragonlord, and we did. But then he … died."

He swallowed.

"That man was my father," he said, the words spewing out in a rushed confession, "I only knew him for a few hours, but he was my father. He'd been banished a long time ago – but, in the end I couldn't save him." He blinked furiously, shaking his head to clear his vision. "Anyway, now I have all his powers. I can talk to dragons, command them. I'm their master, I suppose."

Arthur blinked in surprise, as silence stretched out between them.

"Well," he said eventually, "That's …" He trailed off. What was he supposed to say? That he didn't realise Merlin had been in possession of such power? That he was awed by what he could do? That if he'd known that Merlin was a Dragonlord, he would have… would have done things differently?

"I – I'm sorry," he said eventually. The words sounded awkward – apologies were not something he was in the habit of making. "About your father."

Merlin shrugged. They stood in silence for a minute, the damp heavy in the night air. Unable to keep silent, it was Arthur who broke it first. "I thought you said no more secrets."

Merlin closed his eyes. Was this how it was always going to be from now on – patches of doubt, suspicion always shadowing their conversations? "I told you everything important."

The silence that followed signalled that Arthur certainly _did not_ class this little detail as unimportant. If only he knew, Merlin found himself thinking miserably, if only he knew how much he still doesn't know. Freya. Morgana. How would he react when he found out that Merlin had known all along that Morgana had magic? That he could have reached out a hand to pull her from the darkness? That he _poisoned_ her –

"You called a dragon!" Arthur's indignant shout pulled Merlin from his miserable thoughts. "You called a dragon, here!"

Merlin glanced up at the sky. A black patch had obscured some of the stars, and was growing larger by the second, accompanied by the familiar wing-beat in the open air.

"Not just any dragon," Merlin murmured softly, as Kilgharrah drew close enough for Merlin to make out the familiar glint his eyes, "the last dragon."

Arthur's hand was already on his sword, a burning distrust in his eyes. The last time he had seen this creature, it had been destroying everything he had held dear and killing thousands of people. He had felt a cold satisfaction at the thought of its death – but, now, Merlin was saying it was their only saviour. How twisted fate was.

"Arthur, promise me you won't do anything stupid, okay?" Merlin muttered quickly, moving in front of him, "Leave it to me."

* * *

><p>"Kilgharrah," Merlin greeted the beast with a warm smile, "That was fast."<p>

"I am never far away, young warlock." The dragon settled on the grass, fixing his gaze on the man who stood so uncertainly behind him. "And the occasion is grave. I will always come when you call."

"I know." Merlin grinned.

Kilgharrah's gaze flickered from Arthur to Merlin, then back again.

"I see that you have brought a friend."

Merlin took a deep breath. "Arthur." He turned to the Prince, silently pleading with him to cooperate. "This is Kilgharrah, the 'Great Dragon'."

Arthur just stared at the beast in front of him, struggling to get his around the situation. The dragon - the bloodthirsty beast that had nearly killed him and his kingdom - was _talking to him._

"I am glad that we have the chance to meet on better terms," Kilgharrah said, a slight mocking tone to the rumble. Arthur bristled, hand still on his sword.

"Last time we met," he answered, his voice low, "You tried to destroy my kingdom and everyone in it."

Kilgharrah cocked his head to the side, as if remembering. "Yes, I did, didn't I? In hindsight that was, perhaps, foolish of me. But you forget, Prince Arthur, that your father has killed so many of my kind and kept me imprisoned in the darkness for so long that I felt that I required some kind of compensation."

Arthur growled. "Don't talk about –"

"Stop." Merlin laid a hand on the Prince's arm, throwing an angry glare in the dragon's direction. "We didn't come here to argue, Kilgharrah. You know that."

The dragon inclined his head, amusement in his eyes. "I apologise, young warlock." There was something strange about watching Merlin command the respect of a beast so old and majestic when, as a servant, it was always Merlin who had to be respectful of the rest of the castle's inhabitants. Although, Arthur thought ruefully, Merlin never did try very hard.

Merlin sighed, the sound of a long suffering parent who grew tired of having to deal with all this awkward behaviour. "We found the manacles, the last ones hidden after the Great Purge. Uther wants to get rid of magic for once and for all, and he plans on using them on everyone in Camelot – it would kill _so many people. _We need to destroy them. Can you do that?"

"I am a creature of the oldest magic," Kilgharrah spoke, after a pause. Arthur looked at Merlin, apprehension beginning to rise to the surface – that did not sound promising. "As these manacles are. But you already know what they do to beings like us, do you not?"

Merlin nodded, swallowing.

"Artefacts such as these are a source of great power. Destroying something like this will not come without a price – the darkness will need to flow somewhere to keep the world's balance in order."

"A price," Arthur muttered darkly. This whole conversation was beginning to sound a lot the like the desperate exchange that took place on that cursed isle, as Arthur tried to bargain for Merlin's life – there was no honesty in these kind of deals, only deception and deceit. Nimueh had taught him that. "We will have none of your trickery."

"Arthur!" Merlin exclaimed angrily, turning round to glare at the Prince. "For once, could you just –"

"I know what happens when you make bargains with beings like this," Arthur said, his voice hard. "And so do you." He turned to Merlin, trying to make him understand. "Don't you remember what happened with Nimueh? I was almost tricked into letting you die, and you said yourself that she tricked you into killing Gaius." Merlin flinched slightly at this accusation, but he couldn't deny its truth. "I won't let that happen again."

"Arthur, this isn't the same thing," Merlin said softly, "Kilgharrah isn't asking for a life."

"How do you know?" Arthur turned to stare at the creature, meeting the unblinking golden eyes with a steady gaze of his own. "If you do not mean to trick us, then what is it that you require?"

Merlin held his breath. No one moved. Then Kilgharrah let out a great laugh that echoed around the empty space, like the rumble of distant thunder.

"A very wise move, young Pendragon. Merlin would do well to follow your advice occasionally." Arthur threw a smug smile in Merlin's general direction. Merlin just groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Indeed, there are similarities in these bargains, as all things concerning magic are governed by the same rules. However, a life is not required here – the dark magic will just return to the earth, until such a time when it is called up to be used again."

Merlin sighed. "Then what's the problem?"

"Power of such a scale would be a great aid to either side of a battlefield."

At the mention of war, Merlin felt Arthur stiffen beside him. Merlin narrowed his eyes – what was Kilgharrah playing at?

"Perhaps it would be wise to keep the artefact, until such a time when the magic could be used to your own benefit." Kilgharrah looked innocently past him, gaze fixated on the man behind. "Is that not true, Arthur?"

Arthur's head was reeling – another war?

"I …" His voice trailed off. What did he really think? Had his father been asked, Arthur doubted that the man would have turned down such an opportunity – in fact, given how Uther had jumped at the chance to gain the staff from the Isle of the Blessed, there was no question.

He could see Merlin out of the corner of his eye, wringing his hands nervously. To be honest, a part of Arthur wanted to accept the dragon's offer – after all, if he'd accepted the use of magic, the least he could do is keep some in reserve in case he ever needed it. Strategically, it was the best option – by keeping the manacles away from his father, not only would he save the kingdom from Uther's wrath, but he would also be keeping a vast resource of power from his enemies.

"_Arthur, don't take the staff. Please."_

An image of Merlin, gasping for breath whilst Nimueh talked of bargains and promises, flitted across his mind.

"_A mortal like you would not have been able to use it without surrendering to its power."_

Arthur was not his father. He did not desire absolute power – he desired the safety of his kingdom. He made that mistake before, and he almost lost Merlin. He wouldn't make it again.

"I think we should destroy it. The magic returns to the earth – that's where it belongs." He risked a sideways glance at Merlin, hoping he was saying the right thing. Merlin gave him a small smile that looked almost … proud. "The kingdom would be no better off if we kept it – to be honest, we would be putting the citizens in more danger, as the manacles could be stolen at any time and the power harnessed against us."

Arthur could feel Kilgharrah's gaze burning into him, _through _him, but he stood his ground.

"And if the time comes that we do need magic to win a war, well –" He broke off, smiling ruefully. "Maybe it's time that Merlin started doing something useful instead of skulking around in the shadows."

"I do not skulk," Merlin muttered petulantly.

Arthur raised an eyebrow in the perfect imitation of Gaius – Merlin had to suppress an urge to stick out his tongue in response. "In battles? When you go and hide at the corners of the fray? When I catch you sneaking around the castle at night with no plausible explanation? Yes, Merlin, you do."

"Well, I couldn't very well stand in the middle of the battlefield casting enchantments left, right and centre, could I?" Merlin couldn't quite keep the annoyance out of his voice. "I had to find some way of saving your royal backside without you taking off my head!"

Arthur laid a hand on his arm, smiling softly. "I was joking, Merlin. I know. I know you did."

"You truly are becoming the king of legends, Arthur Pendragon." Kilgharrah shifted slightly, something resembling a smile appearing on the dragon's face. "The decision you have made today is a glimpse of how you will rule in the future – with both your heart and your head, compassion for others eclipsing the desire for power. But be warned – even though that is your strength, it will also be your downfall." The creature continued quickly, before either man could interrupt. "You have a great destiny, you two, side by side. The Once and Future King, destined to unite the kingdom of Albion, and Emrys, the greatest sorcerer to walk the earth. Together, returning magic to the land."

"Wait –" Arthur began, the last pieces slowly beginning to fall into place. "You're Emrys?"

Merlin nodded, slowly.

"My father's going crazy trying to find you," Arthur murmured slightly breathlessly, running a hand through his hair. "And all this time, it was you! He's searching the entire city – Merlin, he won't stop until he kills you."

"Don't worry about me, Arthur," Merlin shrugged, trying to ignore the guilt that bubbled in his chest when he thought about all of the innocent lives Uther was prepared to take just so he could locate Emrys – locate him. "You know I can take care of myself. After all, I've managed this long, haven't I?"

"I really don't know how," Arthur muttered, "Greatest sorcerer to walk the earth, and you can't even walk without falling over your own feet. That bodes well for the future of the kingdom."

Kilgharrah chuckled, as Merlin glared indignantly at the Prince, trying to think of some kind of retaliation.

"Now, you desired my fire?"

* * *

><p>It was almost light by the time the deed had been completed. As soon as the magic had been separated from the manacles, Merlin had felt a great deal better – it was as if there had been something buzzing in the background the whole time, making him feel uneasy, but he only noticed its presence once it had gone.<p>

"We'll take them back to Camelot, and put them back where we found them," Arthur announced, gingerly placing the manacles back into the box, "This way, he can go along with his plan, but they will be useless – it will seem like there is no sorcery within the borders, and hopefully that will give me enough time to convince him to abandon this whole charade."

"Whatever you say, Sire." The title dripped with sarcasm, as always, causing Arthur to give Merlin a quick slap on the back of his head as he made his way back to where the horses were tethered.

"You've done well, Merlin," Kilgharrah said softly, as they both watched the prince's retreating figure. "I know you fear for your destiny sometimes. Do not lose heart, for even when your path becomes clouded, you will lead each other back."

Merlin made a small noise in agreement. There were a few things that had been playing on his mind for a while now, questions that Kilgharrah had thrown up, but he wasn't sure that he wanted to hear the answers.

"Kilgharrah," he began haltingly, "What exactly did you mean by –"

"Are you planning on walking back to Camelot, _Mer_lin?" Arthur's impatient shout cut through his thoughts, interrupting his speech. "Or is there something else you've neglected to tell me?"

"Destiny is calling, young warlock," Kilgharrah noted, with amusement. Merlin sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, before taking a deep breath and hollering back, "Have you ever heard of the word patience, you prat?"

"Of course I have – waiting for you to get me breakfast every day is lesson enough. You would think that, with all of those powers you have, the least you could do is retrieve the food from the kitchen _whilst it's still morning._"

"Look, Arthur, that was just one time –"

"One time too many!"

"You're such an ass."

"A _royal _ass!"


End file.
